BY  EFELYN  SCOTT 

PRECIPITATIONS 

THE  NARROW  HOUSE 

NARCISSUS 

THE  GOLDEN  DOOR  (In  Preparation) 


NARCISSUS 


EVELYN    SCOTT 

•. 


NEW  YORK 

HARCOURT,  BRACE  AND  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,   1922,   BY 
HARCOURT,    BRACE  AND   COMPANY,   INC. 


PRINTED    IN    THE    U.  S.  A.  BY 

THE    OUINN    &    BODEN    COMPANY 

RAHWAY,    N.    J 


"Nought  loves  another  as  itself, 
Nor  venerates  another  so, 
Nor  is  it  possible  to  thought 
A  greater  than  itself  to  know." 

WILLIAM  BLAKE, 


983968 


NARCISSUS 


PART  I 


AT  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  Julia  pat  on 
her  hat.  Her  dressing  table  with  its  triple 
mirror  stood  in  an  alcove.  It  was  a  very  fine  severe 
little  table.  It  was  Julia's  vanity  to  be  very  fine 
and  dainty  in  her  toilet.  Here  was  no  powder  box, 
but  lotions  and  expensive  scents.  When  she  sat 
before  the  glass  she  enjoyed  the  defiant  delicacy 
which  she  saw  in  the  lines  of  her  lifted  head,  and 
there  was  a  thrill  which  she  could  not  analyze  in  the 
sight  of  her  long  white  hands  lying  useless  in  her 
lap.  They  madt  her  in  love  with  herself. 

Her  hat  was  of  bright  brown  straw  and  when  she 
slipped  on  her  fur  coat  she  was  pleased  with  the 
luxurious  incongruity  of  the  effect. 

Nellie,  the  old  Negro  servant,  was  away,  and 
Julia's  step-children,  May  and  Bobby,  were  at 
school.  As  Julia  descended  the  stairway  to  the 
lower  hall,  her  silk  dress,  brushing  the  carpet,  made 
a  cool  hissing  sound  in  the  quiet  passageway. 

She  opened  the  front  door  softly  and  passed  into 

3 


4  NARCISSUS 

the  long  street  which  appeared  sad  and  deserted  in 
the  spring  sunshine.  Under  the  cold  trees,  that  were 
budding  here  and  there,  were  small  blurred  shad- 
ows. In  the  tall  yellow  apartment  house  across  the 
way  windows  were  open  and  white  curtains  shook 
''mysteriously  against  the  light.  Above  a  cornice 
smoke  from  a  hidden  chimney  rushed  in  opaque 
volumes  to  dissolve  against  the  cold  glow  of  the  re- 
*  mote  sky. 

Julia  walked  along,  feeling  as  though  she  were  the 
one  point  in  which  the  big  silent  city  in  the  chill 
wind  grew  conscious  of  itself.  It  was  only  when 
she  reached  Dudley  Allen's  doorstep  that  her  mood 
changed,  and  she  felt  that  when  she  went  in  she 
would  be  robbed  of  her  new  glorious  indifference 
about  her  life. 

She  rang  the  bell  above  the  small  brass  plate,  and 
when  the  white  door  had  opened  and  she  was  mount- 
ing the  soft  green-carpeted  stairs  up  the  long  cor- 
ridor, it  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  going  back  into 
herself. 

In  the  passage  before  Dudley's  rooms  he  came  to 
meet  her  as  he  had  done  before.  His  hard  eyes  as 
they  looked  at  her  had  a  sort  of  bloom  of  triumph. 

"I  was  sure  you'd  come."    He  grasped  both  her 


NARCISSUS  5 

hands  and  drew  her  through  the  tall  doorway. 
"Dear!" 

"I  suppose  you  were."  She  smiled  at  him  with  a 
clear  look,  knowing  that  in  his  discomfort  before  her 
he  was  condemning  himself. 

"Won't  you  kiss  me?"  They  were  in  his  studio. 
He  pouted  his  lips  under  his  mustache.  His  eyes 
shone  with  uneasy  brilliance. 

She  kissed  him.  She  understood  that  the  simpler 
she  was  in  her  abandon  the  more  disconcerted  he 
became. 

When  she  had  taken  off  her  hat  and  laid  it  upon 
his  drawing-board,  he  held  her  against  him  and 
caressed  her  hair.  Because  he  was  afraid  of  his  own 
silence,  he  kept  repeating,  "Dear!  My  dear!" 

"Aren't  we  lovers,  Julia?"  he  insisted  at  last, 
childishly.  He  was  embarrassed  and  wanted  to 
make  a  joke  of  his  own  mood,  but  she  saw  that  he 
was  trembling.  His  mouth  smiled.  His  eyes  were 
clouded  and  watchful  with  resentment. 

"How  deeply  are  we  lovers,  Dudley?"  She  leaned 
her  cheek  against  his  breast.  She  did  not  wish  to 
look  at  him.  Suddenly  she  was  terrified  that  a 
lover  was  able  to  give  her  nothing  of  what  other 
women  received. 


6  NARCISSUS 

"You  love  me.  Look  at  me,  Julia.  Say  you  love 
me." 

Her  lids  fluttered,  but  she  kept  her  eyes  fixed  upon 
his  small  plump  hand,  white  through  its  black  down. 
The  hand  was  all  at  once  a  pitiful  trembling  thing 
which  belonged  to  neither  of  them.  It  had  a  poor 
detached  involuntary  life. 

Because  of  the  hand  she  felt  sorry  for  him,  and 
she  said,  warmly  and  abruptly,  "I  love  you."  Her 
eyes,  when  they  met  his,  were  filled  with  tears.  Yet 
she  knew  the  love  she  gave  him  was  not  the  thing 
for  which  he  asked. 

He  was  suspicious.  His  hands  fell  away  from 
her.  "Was  I  mistaken  yesterday?"  His  voice 
sounded  bitter  and  tired. 

She  was  pained  and  her  fear  of  losing  him  made 
her  ardent.  "No,  Dudley!  No!"  Her  face  flushed, 
and  her  eyes,  lifted  to  his,  were  dim  with  emotion. 

"Did  you  understand  what  I  hoped — how  much 
I  hoped  for  when  I  asked  you  to  come  here  to-day, 
Julia?" 

"Yes,"  she  said.  All  the  time  she  felt  that  she 
loved  him  because  they  were  both  suffering  and  in  a 
kind  of  danger  from  each  other  which  he  was  unable 
to  see.  She  loved  him  because  she  was  the  only 


NARCISSUS  7 

person  who  could  protect  him  from  herself.  She 
was  oppressed  by  her  accurate  awareness  of  him:  of 
his  hot  flushed  face  close  to  hers,  the  shape  of  his 
nose,  the  pores  of  his  skin,  the  beard  in  his  cheeks, 
the  irregular  contour  of  his  head  matted  with  dark 
curls,  his  ears  that  she  thought  ugly  with  the  tufts  of 
hair  that  grew  above  their  lobes,  his  neck  which 
was  short  and  white  and  a  little  thick,  and  his  hands, 
hairy  and  at  the  same  time  womanish.  Already  she 
knew  him  so  intimately  that  it  gave  her  a  sense  of 
guilt  toward  him.  Her  recognition  of  him  was  so 
cruel,  and  he  seemed  unmindful  of  it. 

When  she  had  reassured  him  that  she  loved  him, 
he  drew  her  down  beside  him  on  the  couch  with  the 
black  and  gold  cover.  He  wanted  to  make  tea  for 
her  and  to  show  her  some  drawings  that  had  been 
sent  to  him  for  his  judgment. 

She  knew  that  while  he  talked  he  was  on  his 
guard  before  her.  It  seemed  ugly  to  her  that  they 
were  afraid  of  each  other. 

The  drawings,  by  an  unknown  artist,  were  very 
delicate,  indicated  by  a  few  lines  on  what  ap- 
peared to  her  a  vast  page.  It  humiliated  her  to  rec- 
ognize that  she  did  not  understand  the  things  he 
was  interested  in.  To  admit,  even  inwardly,  that 


8  NARCISSUS 

something  fine  was  beyond  her  awoke  in  her  an  arro- 
gance of  self -contempt.  I'm  only  fit  for  one  need, 
she  said  to  herself.  Then,  aloud,  "They  are  very 
subtle  and  wonderful,  Dudley.  Much  too  fine,  I 
think,  for  me  to  appreciate.  I  really  don't  want 
any  tea."  And  she  gazed  at  him  hatefully  as  though 
he  had  hurt  her. 

Feeling  herself  so  much  less  than  he,  even  in  this 
one  thing,  made  her  hard  again.  She  stretched  her 
hands  up  to  him.  "Kiss  me ! "  The  frankness  and 
kindness  were  gone  out  of  her  eyes. 

He  was  startled  by  the  ugly  unexpected  look,  and 
his  own  eyes  grew  sensual  and  moist  as  he  sank  be- 
side her  on  his  knees. 

She  drew  his  head  against  her  breast  and  between 
her  palms  she  could  feel  his  pulses,  heavy  and  la- 
bored Each  found  at  the  moment  something  loath- 
some in  caressing  the  other;  but  it  was  only  when 
they  despised  each  other  that  their  emotions  were 
completely  released. 

IT  was  growing  dusk.    The  cold  pale  day  outside 
became  suddenly  hectic  with  color.     Through 
the  windows  at  the  back  of  the  room  Julia  could  see 
the  black  roof  of  the  factory  across  the  courtyard 


NARCISSUS  9 

and  the  shell-pink  stain  that  came  into  the  sky  above 
it.  The  heavy  masses  of  buildings  were  glowing 
shadows.  The  room  was  filled  with  pearl-colored 
reflections. 

Dudley  watched  her  as  she  lifted  her  hair  in  a 
long  coil  and  pinned  it  against  her  head. 

She  glanced  at  his  small  highly  colored  face  with 
its  little  mustache  above  the  full  smiling  lips.  Again 
she  was  ashamed  of  seeing  him  so  plainly.  She 
wished  that  she  were  exalted  out  of  so  definite  a 
physical  perception  of  him. 

"Julia.  Julia."  He  repeated  her  name  rumin- 
atively.  "You  did  come  to  care  for  me.  What  do 
you  feel,  Julia?  What  has  this  made  you  feel?" 
He  could  not  bear  the  sense  of  her  separateness 
from  him.  He  was  obsessed  by  curiosity  about  her 
and  a  lustful  desire  to  outrage  her  mental  integrity. 
He  could  not  bear  the  feeling  that  the  body  which 
had  possessed  him  so  completely  yet  belonged  to 
itself.  His  eyes,  intimate  without  tenderness,  smiled 
with  a  guilty  look  into  hers. 

She  gazed  at  him  as  if  she  wanted  to  escape.  For 
a  moment  she  wished  that  they  could  have  disap- 
peared from  each  other's  lives  in  the  instant  which 
culminated  their  embrace.  Their  talk  made  her  feel 


io  NARCISSUS 

herself  grotesque.  "I  don't  know,"  she  said.  "How 
can  I  say?  I  don't  know." 

Though  he  would  not  admit  it  to  himself,  her  air 
of  timidity  and  bewilderment  pleased  him.  "How 
many  lovers  have  you  had,  Julia?" 

She  thought,  He  only  asked  that  to  hurt  me.  She 
could  not  answer  him.  She  smiled.  Her  lips  quiv- 
ered. She  looked  at  her  hands. 

She  saw  him  only  as  something  which  contributed 
to  her  experience  of  herself.  She  had  her  experience 
of  him  before  she  gave  herself  to  him.  What  hap- 
pened between  them  happened  to  her  alone. 

"What  do  you  feel?  Tell  me?  How  deeply  do 
you  love  me,  Julia?"  He  knew  that  he  was  making 
her  resentful  toward  him,  but  it  was  only  when 
women  felt  nothing  at  all  in  regard  to  him  that  he 
found  it  hard  to  bear.  He  grasped  her  hands  and 
held  them. 

"Of  course  I  love  you  deeply."  Her  voice  trem- 
bled. She  turned  her  head  aside. 

"What  do  you  feel  about  your  husband,  Julia?" 

In  spite  of  the  pressure  of  his  hands  she  felt  Dud- 
ley far  away,  dissolving  from  her. 

When  she  did  not  answer  him  at  once  he  was 


NARCISSUS  ii 

afraid  again  and  began  to  kiss  her.  "You  love  me. 
You  love  me  very  much." 

"Oh,  you  know  I  love  you,"  Julia  said.  She 
wanted  to  cry  out  and  to  go  away.  He  hurt  her  too 
much.  Everything  about  him  hurt  her.  She  had  a 
drunken  sense  of  his  disregard  of  her.  She  could  no 
longer  comprehend  why  she  had  come  there  and 
given  herself  to  him.  It  was  terrible  to  discover  that 
one  did  irrevocable  things  for  no  articulate  reason. 
She  was  less  interested  in  Dudley  now  than  in  this 
new  and  terrible  astonishment  about  herself.  She 
could  not  believe  that  she  had  taken  a  lover  out  of 
boredom  and  discontent  with  herself,  so  she  was 
forced  to  a  mystical  conviction  of  the  inevitability 
of  her  act. 

"I  must  leave  you,  Dudley.  I  can't  bear  to  go.  I 
love  you.  I  love  you."  She  kept  reiterating,  I  love 
you,  and  felt  that  she  was  trying  to  convince  herself 
against  an  uncertainty. 

He  regarded  her  curiously  with  the  same  uneasi- 
ness. "I  may  be  going  away  soon,  Julia.  The 
French  painter  I  told  you  about — the  friend  I  had 
when  I  was  in  Paris.  He's  through  with  America 
now  and  wants  me  to  go  to  Japan  with  him.  Do  you 


12  NARCISSUS 

want  me  to  go?    I  can't  bear  to  be  away  from  you." 
"Go.    Of  course  you  must  go."    She  felt  hysteri- 
cal.   She  took  up  her  hat. 

He  could  not  endure  the  cold  reserved  look  that 
came  over  her  face.  "Julia."  Hating  her,  he  put 
his  arms  about  her,  and  when  her  body  suddenly  re- 
laxed he  resented  its  unexpected  pliancy. 

I  don't  know  her,  he  repeated  to  himself  with  a 
kind  of  despair  against  her. 

JULIA  unlocked  the  front  door  and  stepped  into 
the  still  hall.  A  neat  mirror  was  set  in  the  wall 
of  the  white-paneled  vestibule.  Here  she  saw  her- 
self reflected  dimly.  Everything  about  her  was  rich- 
colored  in  the  afterglow  that  came  golden  through 
the  long  glass  in  the  niches  on  either  side  of  the  en- 
trance. The  polished  floor  was  like  a  pool.  Julia 
felt  that  she  had  never  seen  her  house  before  and 
this  was  a  moment  which  would  never  come  again. 
When  she  went  into  the  dining  room  she  found 
the  table  laid,  and  the  knives  and  forks  on  the  vague 
white  cloth  were  rich  with  the  purplish  luster  of  the 
twilight.  The  white  plates  looked  secret  with  reflec- 
tions. Beyond  the  table,  through  the  French  win- 
dows, she  could  see  the  darkness  that  was  in  the 


NARCISSUS  13 

back  yard  close  to  the  earth,  but  above  the  high  wall 
at  the  end  was  the  brilliant  empty  sky.  The  base  of 
the  elm  tree  was  in  the  shadow.  The  top,  with  its 
new  buds,  glistened  stiffly. 

She  passed  into  the  clean  narrow  kitchen.  She 
had  planned  white  sinks  and  cupboards  when  she 
and  her  husband,  Laurence  Farley,  were  direct- 
ing the  renovation  of  the  place.  Julia  loved  the  an- 
nihilating quality  of  whiteness. 

Old  Nellie,  standing  before  the  stove,  glanced  im- 
passively at  her  mistress. 

"Dinner  time,  Nellie?"  Julia  wondered  what  was 
in  the  old  woman's  mind,  what  made  her  so  strong  in 
her  reticence  that  everything  about  her  seemed 
carved  from  her  own  will.  The  long  strong  arms 
moved  stiffly  in  the  black  sleeves.  The  ungainly 
hands  moved  heavily  and  surely. 

"Reckon  'tis,  Miss  Julia."  Nellie  mumbled  with 
her  cracked  purplish  lips.  When  she  smiled  her 
brown  face  remained  cold.  She  wore  a  wig  of 
straight  black  hair,  but  baldish  patches  of  gray  wool 
showed  under  the  edges  against  the  rich  dry  color 
of  her  neck.  Her  shoulders  were  rounded  as  if  by 
the  weight  of  her  arms.  Her  breasts  fell  forward. 
When  she  moved,  her  spine  remained  rigid  above 


14  NARCISSUS 

the  sunken  hips  of  a  thin  old  savage  woman.  Her 
buttocks  dragged.  She  was  bent  with  strength. 

Julia  was  all  at  once  afraid  of  her  servant.  "I 
must  find  my  children."  She  moved  toward  the 
door,  smiling  over  her  shoulder.  Nellie's  reserve 
seemed  to  demand  a  recognition.  Julia  wanted  to 
get  away  from  it. 

She  went  on  to  her  sitting  room.  The  door  was 
ajar.  Fifteen-year-old  May  was  there  with  her  boy 
friend,  Paul.  As  Julia  entered  Paul  rose  clumsily 
and  May  leaned  forward  in  her  chair. 

Paul,  irritated  by  the  sight  of  Julia's  radiance, 
was  gloomy.  He  was  aware  of  May,  young  and 
awkward,  a  part  of  his  own  youth.  May's  presence 
exposed  a  part  of  him  and  made  him  feel  cowed 
and  soiled. 

"Paul's  still  talking  about  Bernard  Shaw,  Aunt 
Julia."  May  was  glad  "Aunt"  Julia  had  come. 
When  May  was  alone  with  Paul  he  expected  things 
of  her  that  she  could  not  give.  He  would  not  allow 
her  to  be  close  to  him.  He  required  that  she  pass  a 
test  of  mental  understanding.  She  liked  him  best 
when  others  were  present.  Then  she  could  warm 
herself  timidly  and  secretly  in  a  knowledge  of  him 
that  she  could  never  utter. 


NARCISSUS  15 

Julia  laughed  affectionately.  "Aren't  you  weary 
of  such  serious  subjects,  Paul?"  She  felt  that  she 
saw  the  two  from  some  distance  inside  herself.  She 
saw  herself,  beautiful  and  remote  before  Paul,  and 
him  loving  her.  They  loved  the  same  thing.  It 
filled  her  with  tenderness.  He's  a  child!  She  felt 
guilty  in  her  recognition  of  his  youth. 

"Is  that  a  serious  subject?"  Paul  was  wary.  Be- 
ing serious  always  made  one  ridiculous.  Without 
waiting  for  her  reply,  he  said,  "I'm  boring  May  with 
my  company.  I  must  go."  As  he  glanced  toward 
Julia  his  eyes  had  the  sad  malicious  look  of  a 
monkey's.  A  little  color  passed  over  his  pale  nar- 
row face  with  its  expression  of  precocious  childish- 
ness. 

Julia's  long  arms  reached  up  to  her  hat.  Paul's 
gaze  made  her  feel  her  body  beautiful  and  strong, 
but  her  heart  felt  utterly  lost  in  wickedness.  I'm 
Dudley  Allen's  mistress,  she  said  to  herself.  She 
had  expected  the  reassurance  of  pain  in  her  sense  of 
sin;  but  the  meaning  of  what  she  had  done  was  so 
utterly  vacant  that  it  frightened  her.  "Why  not 
have  dinner  with  us?  I  want  to  hear  more  of  your 
discussion." 

Paul  resented  everything  about  her,  her  strong- 


16  NARCISSUS 

ness  and  poise  and  the  impression  she  gave  him  of 
having  passed  from  something  in  which  he  was  still 
held.  He  moved  his  shoulders  grotesquely.  "Oh, 
Shaw's  too  facile.  He's  only  a  bag  of  tricks."  He 
could  not  bear  to  be  with  May  any  longer.  She's  a 
silly  little  girl.  "Good-night."  He  went  out  quickly. 
She's  laughing  at  me!  She's  trying  to  make  me  rude. 
They  heard  the  front  door  slam. 

Paul's  accusing  air  had  given  Julia  a  feeling  of 
self-condemnation.  She  could  not  look  at  May  at 
once. 

"I  am  stupid  with  Paul,"  May  said.  "I  don't  see 
why  he  likes  to  talk  to  me.  He's  so  grown-up  and 
intellectual  and  I  never  know  what  to  say  to  him." 
She  smiled  unhappily.  Her  thin  little  hands  moved 
awkwardly  in  her  lap.  She  wanted  Aunt  Julia  to 
like  her. 

Julia  found  in  May's  eagerness  an  inference  of 
reproach,  and  was  kind  with  an  effort.  "Nonsense, 
May.  Paul  finds  you  a  very  interesting  little  com- 
panion. He  enjoys  talking  to  you  very  much." 

May's  mouth  quivered.  Her  eyes  were  soft  and 
appeared  dark  in  her  small  pale  face.  "But  he's 
eighteen,"  she  said. 

There   were   slow   footsteps,   ponderous  on  the 


NARCISSUS  17 

stairs.  Julia  knew  that  Laurence  had  come.  Her 
heart  beats  quickened  almost  happily.  She  wanted 
to  experience  the  reproach  of  his  face.  Without 
naming  what  she  waited  for,  as  a  saint  looks  for- 
ward to  his  crucifixion,  she  looked  forward  to  the 
moment  when  he  should  condemn  her. 

Laurence  stood  in  the  doorway.  "Well,  Julie, 
girl,  how  are  you  to-night?"  His  brows  contracted 
momentarily  when  he  noticed  May.  "How  are  you, 
May?"  But  his  gaze  returned  to  Julia  and  he 
smiled  at  her  steadily.  His  lips  were  harsh  and  at 
the  same  time  sweet. 

"You're  tired,  dear.  Come  sit  by  our  fire."  Julia 
could  not  meet  his  eyes.  She  watched  his  heavy 
slouched  shoulders  and  observed  the  loose  bulge  of 
his  coat  as  he  sank  deeply  in  the  high-backed  chair 
which  she  offered  him.  His  hands  were  wonderful. 
Small  white  hesitating  hands.  She  remembered 
Dudley's  hands  passing  over  her,  repulsive  to  her, 
hungry  hands  with  a  kind  of  lascivious  innocence 
that  hurt. 

Dudley's  bright  secretive  eyes  seemed  close  to 
her,  between  her  and  her  husband,  giving  out  a 
harsh  warmth  that  suffocated  her.  She  identified 


i8  NARCISSUS 

herself  so  with  her  imaginings  that  it  was  as  if  she 
had  become  invisible  to  Laurence. 

"Yes.  I've  had  an  interesting  day  at  the  labora- 
tory. Even  the  commercial  side  of  science  has  its 
diversions." 

On  the  hearth  the  delicate  drifting  ash  took  a  lilac 
tinge  from  some  fallen  bits  of  stick  in  which  a  crim- 
son glow  trembled  like  a  diffused  respiration.  The 
room  was  strange  with  firelight.  Bronze  flames 
burst  suddenly  from  the  logs  in  torrents  of  rushing 
silk. 

Laurence  began  to  tell  about  the  experiment  in 
anaphylaxis  which  he  had  been  making  in  the  lab- 
oratory that  he  had  charge  of  at  a  medical  manufac- 
turing establishment.  He  put  the  tips  of  his  fingers 
together  while  his  elbows  rested  on  the  arms  of  his 
chair.  His  heavy  distinguished  face  was  brown-red 
from  the  fire.  The  gray  hair  on  his  temples  was  ani- 
mate as  with  a  life  unrelated  to  him.  In  his  ungainly 
repose  there  was  a  dignity  of  acceptance  which  Julia 
recognized,  though  she  could  not  state  it. 

Julia  felt  annihilated  by  his  trust.  When  he 
talked  on,  unaware  of  her  secret  misery,  it  was  as 
though  he  had  willed  her  out  of  being.  She  and  her 
pain  had  ceased  to  be. 


NARCISSUS  19 

She  had  a  vision  of  herself  in  Dudley's  arms. 
That  person  in  Dudley's  arms  was  alive.  She  was 
conscious  of  herself  and  Laurence  as  a  double  dead- 
ness  on  either  side  of  the  living  unrelated  vision. 
Then  it  passed  and  there  was  nothing  but  Laurie's 
dead  voice. 

AFTER  dinner,  while  Julia  was  hearing  Bobby's 
lessons  downstairs,  Laurence  went  up  to  her 
sitting  room  to  rest  and  wait  for  her.  He  sat  down 
by  the  Adams  desk.  The  glow  from  the  blue  pottery 
lamp  with  its  orange  shade  shone  along  his  thick 
gray-sprinkled  hair  and  lighted  one  side  of  his 
strongly  lined  face,  his  deep-set  eyes  with  their 
crinkled  lids,  his  large  well-shaped  nose  with  its 
bitter  nostrils,  and  his  rather  small  mouth  with  its 
hard-sweet  expression. 

When  he  heard  Julia's  step  he  lifted  his  head  and 
glanced  expectantly  toward  the  door. 

Julia's  hair  was  in  a  loose  knot  against  her  neck. 
She  was  dressed  in  a  long  plain  smock  of  a  curious 
green.  Laurence  wondered  what  genius  had  taught 
her  to  select  her  clothes.  While  his  first  wife  was 
alive  he  despised  the  mere  vainness  of  dress,  but 
since  marrying  Julia  he  had  come  to  feel  that  clothes 


20  NARCISSUS 

provided  the  art  of  individualization.  It  was  mar- 
velous that  a  woman  who  had  previously  expended 
most  of  her  industry  as  a  laboratory  assistant  had 
lost  none  of  the  knack  of  enhancing  her  feminine 
attributes. 

" Bobby  has  the  most  indefatigable  determination 
to  have  his  own  way.  He  hasn't  any  respect  for  our 
educational  system.  I  felt  he  simply  must  finish 
his  history  before  he  succumbed  to  the  charms  of 
Jack  Wilson's  new  motor  cycle." 

Laurence  found  in  her  voice  a  peculiar  emotional 
timbre  which  never  failed  to  stir  him,  and  when  she 
sat  down  near  him  he  was  caught  as  always  by  the 
helplessness  of  her  large  hands  lying  in  her  lap. 

"I  don't  fancy  his  playing  with  motor  cycles." 

They  were  silent  a  moment. 

" Julie?"  He  smiled  apologetically.  He  noticed 
that  her  eyes  evaded  him  and  it  made  him  unhappy. 
"Not  much  company  for  you.  I'm  a  typical  Ameri- 
can man  of  business — engrossed  in  my  profession. 
Wasn't  it  to-night  that  you  were  going  to  that  meet- 
ing on  Foreign  Relief?" 

"You've  discouraged  my  philanthropies,"  Julia 
said.  "Besides,  they  won't  miss  me."  She  lowered 
her  gaze,  and  made  a  wry  deprecating  mouth. 


NARCISSUS  21 

He  felt  that  she  was  shutting  him  out  from  some- 
thing— from  her  cold  youth.  He  had  not  intended 
to  discourage  her  enthusiasms,  but  it  would  have  re- 
lieved him  to  enfold  her  in  the  warmth  of  his  inertia. 
He  said  inwardly  that  he  must  keep  himself  until 
she  needed  him.  He  wondered  if  he  were  merely 
jealous  of  her  youngness  which  went  on  beyond  him 
discovering  itself. 

There  was  a  pastel  on  the  desk  beside  him.  "I 
see  Allen  has  done  another  portrait  of  you." 

Julia  flushed  as  she  turned  to  him.  In  her  open 
look  he  found  something  concealed.  He  was 
ashamed  of  his  thought.  He  stared  at  his  own  hands 
and  hated  their  sensitiveness. 

"I  can't  pretend  to  see  myself  in  it.  It  looks  gro- 
tesque to  us  with  our  Victorian  conceptions  of  art, 
doesn't  it?"  She  smiled,  gazing  at  him  with  a 
harassed  but  eager  air  of  demand. 

He  did  not  wish  to  see  her  eyes  that  asked  to  be 
defended  against  themselves.  He  stared  at  the  pic- 
ture a  moment  in  silence.  It  irritated  him  to  feel 
that  the  artist  had  observed  something  in  Julia 
which  was  hidden  from  her  husband.  When  he 
finally  glanced  with  hard  amused  eyes  at  her,  he 
felt  himself  weak.  "My  mentality  is  not  equal  to 


22  NARCISSUS 

an  appreciation  of  your  friend's  stuff.  I'm  hope- 
lessly bourgeois,  Julia."  He  would  not  admit  his 
hardening  against  each  of  Julia's  interests  as  they 
came  to  her.  He  put  his  pain  with  the  transience 
of  her  youth  and  condescended  to  her  so  that  he 
need  not  take  note  of  himself.  "Did  you  arrange 
for  the  lecture  courses  at  the  settlement  house?"  he 
asked.  He  missed  her  former  feverish  engrossment 
in  the  projected  lecture  series  and  wanted  to  bring 
her  back  to  it. 

Julia  made  a  pathetic  grimace.  "You've  laughed 
at  me  so,  Laurie.  I  realize  all  that  was  absurd — 
terribly  futile." 

"Did  I?  I  thought  I  agreed  with  you  that  it  was 
a  fine  thing  to  inoculate  the  struggling  masses  with 
the  culture  bug."  He  could  not  control  his  sar- 
casms, though  he  uttered  them  lightly.  He  wanted 
her  to  be  as  tired  as  he  was — to  rest  with  him. 
There  was  sweat  on  his  wrists  as  he  took  his  pipe 
from  his  pocket  and  pushed  some  tobacco  into  the 
dry  charred  bowl.  When  he  laughed  at  her  the 
pupils  of  his  gray  eyes  were  small  and  sharp  and  de- 
fensive, as  though  they  had  been  pricked  by  his 
pain.  Beautiful,  he  thought.  She  doesn't  need  me. 


NARCISSUS  23 

"I  have  a  very  middle-aged  feeling  about  the  welfare 
of  humanity." 

She  came  over  and  knelt  by  his  side.  "Am  I  too 
ridiculous?  Can't  you  take  me  seriously,  Laurie?" 
She  wondered  why  it  was  that  when  he  looked  at  her 
she  always  found  suffering  in  his  face.  He  held  him- 
self away  from  what  she  wanted  to  give.  She  wanted 
an  abandon  in  which  she  would  be  glorified.  She  im- 
agined eyes  finding  her  wonderful.  She  smiled  at 
him,  her  sweet  humorless  smile. 

Laurence  stroked  her  hair.  "I  take  you  too  seri- 
ously," he  said.  "I  sometimes  feel  that  a  husband 
is  a  very  casual  affair  to  you  modern  women." 

She  was  tender  to  his  ignorance  of  her  and  vain  of 
her  secret  terror  of  herself.  Watching  him,  she 
thought  of  the  day  when  his  youngest  child  died 
and  he  had  allowed  her  to  see  his  suffering.  Because 
she  had  never  wished  to  hurt  him  she  resented  it 
that  he  had  never  again  been  helpless  before  her. 
She  wondered  if  he  had  been  strong  like  this  to  his 
other  wife,  or  if  he  gave  more  of  his  suffering  to  the 
dead  than  to  the  living.  Suffering  filled  Julia  with 
tenderness,  so  she  could  not  think  herself  cruel. 
"Dear!"  She  kissed  him  gently,  maternally,  and 
climbed  to  her  feet. 


24  NARCISSUS 

He  saw  her  reproachful  eyes.  Youth;  so  free  with 
itself.  Rapacious  for  emotion.  He  felt  bitterly  his 
necessity  more  final  than  hers.  " Where's  my  last 
Journal  of  American  Science?"  He  dismissed  her 
intensity.  Lifting  his  thick  brows,  he  took  out 
spectacles  and  put  them  on.  He  watched  her  over 
the  rims. 

She  handed  him  his  paper.  He  was  a  child  to 
her.  Her  secret  sense  of  sin  made  her  strong  and 
superior.  She  wanted  to  be  gentle.  She  did  not 
know  why  the  sense  of  wrongdoing  made  her  so  con- 
fident of  herself.  While  he  read  the  journal  she 
seated  herself  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  fireplace 
with  her  embroidery.  When  he  lowered  the  paper 
for  an  instant  and  she  had  a  glimpse  of  his  oldish 
oblivious  face,  she  loved  its  unawareness  and  tears 
came  to  her  eyes  again. 

ON  Saturday  morning  Julia  attended  the  meet- 
ing of  a  club  in  which  the  problems  of  busi- 
ness women  were  reviewed.  The  members  gathered 
in  a  hotel  auditorium  where  musicales  were  some- 
times given.  The  long  windows  of  the  room  opened 
above  an  alleyway  and  its  gold  rococo  gloom  was  re- 
lieved of  the  obscure  sunshine  by  electric  lights.  The 


NARCISSUS  25 

women  sat  in  little  groups  here  and  there,  only  half 
filling  the  place,  and  the  murmur  of  voices  went  on 
indistinguishably  until  the  president,  Mrs.  Hurst,  a 
pale  self-confident  little  woman  with  a  whimsical 
smile,  stepped  to  the  platform,  below  the  garlanded 
reliefs  of  Beethoven  and  Mozart,  and  struck  her 
gavel  on  the  desk.  Then  an  unfinished  silence  crept 
over  the  scattered  assemblage.  A  stout  intellectual- 
looking  Jewess  came  forward  ponderously,  adjusted 
her  nose  glasses,  and  read  the  minutes  of  the  previ- 
ous meeting,  while  those  before  her  listened  with 
forced  attention,  or  frankly  considered  the  interest- 
ing design  of  green  and  black  embroidery  which  or- 
namented her  dark  blue  dress. 

But  once  the  subjects  of  the  day  were  under  dis- 
cussion the  concentration  of  the  audience  was  nat- 
ural and  intense.  Then  the  president,  with  demure 
severity,  rapped  with  her  gavel  and  reminded  too 
ardent  debaters  that  they  were  out  of  order. 

Julia  could  not  resist  the  sense  of  importance  that 
it  gave  her  to  state  her  serious  opinion  upon  certain 
problems  which  affected  her  sex.  When  she  rose  to 
express  herself  her  exposition  was  so  succinct  that 
she  was  invited  to  the  platform  where  what  she  said 
could  be  better  appreciated. 


26  NARCISSUS 

The  repetition  of  her  speech  was  uncomfortably 
self-conscious.  Her  cheeks  grew  faintly  pink. 
There  were  several  women  in  the  audience  whom 
she  disliked,  and  when  she  talked  in  this  manner 
she  felt  that  she  was  beating  them  down  with  her 
righteousness.  She  observed  in  the  faces  of  many 
a  virtuous  and  deliberate  stupidity  that  was  a  part 
of  their  determination  not  to  understand  her. 

Her  speech  intoxicated  her  a  little.  When  she 
stepped  to  the  floor  amidst  small  volleys  of  applause, 
the  room  about  her  grew  slightly  dim.  For  an  hour 
the  discussion  went  on,  back  and  forth,  one  woman 
rising  and  the  next  interrupting  her  statement. 
After  Julia  herself  had  spoken,  nothing  further 
seemed  to  her  of  consequence.  The  other  women 
were  hopelessly  verbose,  or,  if  they  argued  against 
her,  ridiculously  unseeing.  Their  past  applause 
rang  irritatingly  in  her  mind.  She  recalled  Dudley 
Allen's  contempt  for  this  feeble  utilitarian  consid- 
eration of  eternal  things.  She  was  proud  of  compre- 
hending the  unmorality — the  moral  cynicism — of 
art.  She  felt  that  her  broad  capacity  for  under- 
standing men  like  Dudley  Allen  liberated  her  from 
the  narrow  ethical  confines  of  the  lives  that  sur- 


NARCISSUS  27 

rounded  her,  which  took  their  color  from  social 
usage. 

Yet  she  resented  Dudley's  attitude  toward  her 
slight  attempts  at  self-expression.  It  reminded  her 
of  Laurence's  protective  air  when  she  first  took  a 
position  under  him  at  the  laboratory.  It  was  part 
of  the  conspiracy  against  her  attempt  at  achieving 
significance  beyond  the  limits  of  her  personal 
problem.  It  hurt  her  as  much  as  it  pleased  her  when 
either  Dudley  or  her  husband  complimented  her 
dress  or  commented  on  the  grace  of  her  hands  when 
she  was  pouring  tea.  Her  feeling  was  the  same  when 
she  thought  of  having  a  child.  She  wanted  the  child 
in  everything  but  the  sense  of  accepting  the  inevit- 
able in  maternity.  She  sometimes  imagined  that  if 
she  could  bear  a  child  that  was  hers  alone  she  could 
be  glad  of  it.  In  order  to  avoid  being  stifled  by  a 
conviction  of  inferiority,  she  was  constantly  demand- 
ing some  assurance  of  dependence  on  her  from  those 
she  was  associated  with. 

SINCE  childhood  Dudley  Allen  had  looked  to 
himself  to  achieve  greatness.    He  had  been  a 
pretty  child,  but  effeminate,  undersized,  and  not 


28  NARCISSUS 

noted  for  cleverness.  His  father  was  a  Unitarian 
minister  in  a  New  England  town;  his  mother,  an 
ambitious  woman  absorbed  in  the  pursuit  of  culture. 
Her  esthetic  conceptions  were  of  an  intellectual  or- 
der, but  she  sang  in  the  choir  of  her  husband's 
church  and  thought  of  herself  as  frustrated  in  the 
expression  of  a  naturally  artistic  temperament. 

Dudley  remembered  her  with  vexation.  She  had 
been  ambitious  for  him,  and  he  had  resented  her 
efforts  to  use  him  for  vicarious  self-fulfilment.  She 
had  him  taught  to  play  the  violin  and  developed  his 
taste  for  music.  It  was  chiefly  in  contradiction  to 
her  suggestions  that  he  early  interested  himself  in 
paint.  Now  he  played  the  violin  occasionally,  but 
never  in  public. 

His  father  was  a  man  repressed  and  made  severe 
by  his  sense  of  justice.  As  a  child  Dudley  knew  that 
this  parent  was  ashamed  of  his  son's  physical  weak- 
ness and  emotional  explosiveness.  His  father  wanted 
him  to  be  a  lawyer.  His  mother  wished  him  to  be- 
come a  man  of  letters  or  a  musician  of  distinction. 

Dudley  was  reared  in  the  sterile  atmosphere  of  a 
religion  which  confined  itself  to  ethical  adherences. 
However,  he  absorbed  Biblical  lore  and  adapted  it 
to  his  more  poetic  needs.  His  father's  contempt 


NARCISSUS  29 

pained  him,  but  in  no  wise  diminished  the  boy's 
vaguely  acquired  conviction  that  he  was  himself  one 
of  the  chosen  few.  Dudley  identified  himself  with 
the  singers  of  Israel  who  spoke  with  God.  As  he 
was  unable  to  cope  with  bullying  playmates  of  his 
own  age,  his  exalted  isolation  was  his  defense. 

When  he  was  twelve  years  old  his  mother  dis- 
covered a  journal  in  which  he  had  set  down  some  of 
his  intimacies  with  the  Creator.  She  admonished 
him  for  his  absurdities  and  burned  the  book.  The  in- 
cident helped  to  develop  his  resistance  to  the  opin- 
ions of  those  who  would  destroy  his  consoling 
fancies.  He  noted  precociously  symptoms  of  his 
mother's  weaknesses. 

By  the  time  he  was  sent  away  to  college  he  had 
developed  his  secret  defense,  and  his  timidity  was 
no  longer  so  apparent.  His  progress  through  his 
courses,  while  erratic,  was  in  part  brilliant.  When 
he  returned  home  after  his  first  absence  his  father 
showed  some  pride  in  the  visit. 

At  eighteen  Dudley  had  evolved  a  philosophy 
which  permitted  him  to  look  upon  himself  as  a 
prophet.  Praise  irritated  him  as  much  as  blame. 
When  people  made  him  angry  he  retorted  to  them 
with  waspish  sarcasms.  When  he  was  alone  he 


3o  NARCISSUS 

worked  himself  into  transports  of  despair  which 
made  him  happy.  He  thought  of  himself  as  the 
peculiar  interpreter  of  universal  life.  He  liked  to 
go  out  in  the  woods  and  fields  alone,  and  under  the 
trees  to  take  his  clothes  off  and  roll  in  the  grass. 
He  was  recklessly  generous  on  occasion,  in  defiance 
of  habits  of  penuriousness.  He  felt  most  kindly 
toward  Negroes,  day  laborers,  and  other  people 
whose  social  status  was  inferior  to  his  own.  Yet 
among  his  own  kind  he  exacted  every  recognition 
of  social  superiority. 

After  vexatious  arguments  with  his  father,  he 
went  to  Paris  to  continue  the  study  of  painting.  His 
technical  facility  surprised  every  one.  His  conver- 
sations were  facile  and  worldly,  he  was  impeccable 
in  his  dress,  while  he  thought  of  a  trilogy  in  spirit 
which  embraced  David  in  Israel,  Spinoza,  and  him- 
self. His  greatest  fear  in  life  was  the  fear  of  ridi- 
cule. The  physical  cowardice  which  had  oppressed 
his  childhood  remained  with  him,  and  his  escape 
from  it  was  still  through  his  religious  belief  in  his 
inward  significance.  Men  of  the  crasser  type  de- 
spised him  utterly,  and  he  confuted  them  with  sting- 
ing cleverness.  A  few  who  were  artists  were  at- 
tracted by  the  rich,  almost  feminine  quality  of  his 


NARCISSUS  31 

emotions.  He  found  these  men,  rather  than  the 
women  he  knew,  were  the  dominant  figures  in  his 
life. 

He  was  in  terror  of  all  women  with  whom  he 
could  not  establish  himself  on  planes  of  physical  in- 
timacy. But  after  he  had  arrived  at  such  a  state 
with  them,  they  interested  him  very  little.  Their 
attraction  for  him  was  curious,  rarely  compelling. 
In  all  of  his  affairs  his  condition  was  complicated 
by  his  fear  of  relinquishing  any  influence  he  had 
once  been  able  to  assert. 

When  he  returned  to  America  after  two  years 
abroad  he  felt  stronger  by  the  intellectual  distances 
which  separated  him  from  his  former  life.  If  he 
had  not  rebelled  against  the  tone  of  condescension 
in  which  his  fellow  artists  referred  to  his  youthful 
success,  he  might  have  been  contented  with  the 
humbler  friends  who  were  waiting  to  lionize  him.  He 
continued  to  cultivate  an  aloofness  which  sustained 
his  pride  as  much  against  inferior  compliments  as, 
in  the  past,  it  had  protected  him  from  jibes. 

He  could  not  console  himself  with  the  praises  of 
most  of  the  women  he  met,  for  he  always  fancied 
that  they  were  attempting  to  flatter  him  into  en- 
tanglements. When  he  encountered  Julia,  however, 


32  NARCISSUS 

the  mixture  of  egoism  and  humility  which  he  sensed 
in  her  discontent  intrigued  his  vanity.  He  saw  that 
she  was  isolated  and  unhappy,  and  he  longed  for  an 
admiration  which  his  discrimination  would  not  con- 
demn. In  her  he  anticipated  a  disciple  of  whom  he 
need  not  be  ashamed;  but  until  she  should  be  sexu- 
ally disarmed  he  was  frightened  of  her. 

MAY  and  Paul  were  in  the  park,  by  the  side  of 
the  lake.  The  water  was  caught  in  meshes 
of  hot  rays  as  in  a  web.  In  the  sky,  above  the  trees, 
the  light,  drawn  inward  from  the  vague  horizon, 
glowed  in  a  fathomless  spot  where  the  sun  was  sink- 
ing. The  grass  was  uncut  in  the  field  about  them 
and  the  little  seeded  tops  floated  in  a  red-lilac  mist 
above  the  greer  stems. 

"I  don't  like  your  Aunt  Julia,  May!" 
May's  mouth  half  smiled,  uneasy.     "Why  not?" 
They  sat  down  on  a  hillock  and  Paul  began  to 
tear  up  grass  blades  as  if  he  wanted  to  hurt  them. 
When  he  thought  of  Julia  it  made  him  feel  sorry  for 
himself,  and  he  hated  her.    "She's  so  darn  compla- 
cent and  shallow." 

"Why,  Paul,  Aunt  Julia's  always  doing  things 
for  people.    She's  been  awfully  good  to  you.    After 


NARCISSUS  33 

the  way  she  helped  you  with  your  exams  I  shouldn't 
think  you'd  talk  like  that."  May  gazed  at  him  with 
wide  soft  eyes  of  reproach. 

He  picked  at  the  grass.  "Oh,  I'm  joking.  I  sup- 
pose she  felt  very  virtuous  when  she  helped  me." 

"But  she  does  lots,  Paul.  She's  always  interested 
in  some  chanty  work." 

"Pish!  Charity!  What  does  a  woman  like  that 
know  about  life!" 

May  was  timidly  silent. 

"Some  of  these  days  I'm  going  to  cut  loose  from 
everything — all  these  smug  conventions." 

"But  where'll  you  go,  Paul?  I  thought  you 
wanted  to  study  medicine." 

"Well,  I'd  rather  give  up  that  than  stand  this  at- 
mosphere. Oh;hell!  What's  the  use!" 

She  liked  it  when  he  said  hell.  It  made  her  feel 
intimate  with  a  strange  thing.  Afraid.  "But  what 
do  you  want  to  do,  Paul?" 

Looking  away  from  her,  he  did  not  answer.  It 
soothed  him  to  be  superior  to  May,  but  he  knew 
enough  to  be  ashamed  of  such  consolation.  Too 
easy.  *A  kid  like  that!  "It  don't  matter.  I've  got 
to  get  away.  I  don't  fit  into  the  sort  of  life  your 
Aunt  Julia  stands  for.  What's  there  here  for  me 


34  NARCISSUS 

anyway!"  He  added,  "Of  course  you're  too  young 
to  bother  with  my  troubles."  He  stared  stubbornly 
at  the  twinkling  tree  tops  across  the  lake. 

May  was  crushed  by  this  accusation  of  youth. 
"You  used  to  say  you  wanted  to  stay  here  and  help 
radicals.  Some  day  there'll  be  a  revolution — :  Her 
humility  would  not  permit  her  to  continue. 

Paul  was  irritated  by  this  reminder  of  his  incon- 
sistency. Still  he  felt  guilty  and  wanted  to  be  kind. 
"Pshaw !  A  lot  of  chance  for  revolution  in  America 
now.  You  must  have  been  listening  to  your  Aunt 
Julia  talk  parlor  socialism,  child." 

May  was  feebly  indignant  in  defense.  "You 
didn't  think  so  when  you  used  to  read  Karl  Marx. 
You  know  you  didn't!" 

The  thin  immature  quality  of  her  voice  wounded 
him.  He  wanted  to  be  separate  from  it.  He  was 
aggrieved  because  all  the  world  seemed  to  come  to 
conclusions  ahead  of  him.  He  wanted  to  think 
something  no  one  had  ever  thought  before.  Now 
he  had  an  unadmitted  fear  that  what  Julia  had  said 
had  diminished  his  interest  in  the  struggles  of  the 
working  class.  "I  know  a  fellow  who  cut  loose 
from  home  a  couple  of  months  ago  and  shipped  as  a 
steward  on  a  White  Star  boat.  His  sister  got  a  let- 


NARCISSUS  35 

ter  from  him  saying  that  when  he  got  over  he  was 
fired,  but  he  found  another  bunk  right  away  in  a 
sailing  vessel.  He's  going  to  West  Africa.  You  re- 
member that  kid  that  came  and  visited  the 
Hursts?" 

"Yes,  but  I  don't  see  any  reason  for  you  to  throw 
up  everything  you've  always  planned." 

Paul  rubbed  his  chin.  Beard.  Of  course  it  was 
childish  to  talk  about  "seeing  life".  He  didn't  take 
pride  in  such  absurdities  as  that.  "What  are  you 
going  to  do  with  yourself,  May?"  He  was  gentle 
but  light. 

"Me?"  She  smiled  with  a  startled  air.  She  felt 
helpless  when  people  asked  her  about  herself.  Of 
course  she  understood  he  wasn't  serious.  "I  suppose 
I'm  going  to  college  where  Aunt  Julia  went — and 
then — oh,  I  don't  know,  Paul!  I'm  not  clever  like 
Aunt  Julia.  You  know  she  put  herself  through,  and 
then  earned  her  own  living  for  a  long  time."  Her 
small  face  flushed. 

As  she  turned  a  little  he  watched  the  thick  pale 
braid  of  her  hair  swing  between  her  shoulders. 
"Yes,  I  know.  Aunt  Julia  thinks  the  fact  that  she 
once  worked  deserves  special  recognition."  His  sar- 
casm was  laborious.  He  knew  that  he  was  saying 


36  NARCISSUS 

too  much.  He  leaned  forward  and  twitched  May's 
plait.  "Why  don't  you  do  your  hair  up?  You  want 
to  look  grown-up." 

She  laughed.  She  was  grateful  when  he  teased 
her.  That  meant  it  didn't  matter  what  she  an- 
swered. "I  don't  want  to  look  grown-up." 

"Aunt  Julia  doesn't  want  any  grown-up  step- 
daughters around."  Something  had  him,  he  thought. 
It  was  irresistible. 

"Paul!"  A  catch  of  surprise  and  rebuke  in  her 
soft  tone.  "I  don't  know  what's  got  into  you  lately. 
I  think  it's  horrid — always  suggesting  Aunt  Julia 
has  some  mean  motive  in  everything  she  does!  She's 
one  of  the  loveliest  people  on  earth!  She's  too  good 
for  you.  You  just  don't  understand  her  and  you're 
jealous." 

Paul  was  amused.  "Jealous,  am  I!"  He  would 
not  show  the  child  his  vexation  with  her.  All  at 
once  he  was  disconcerted  to  realize  that  he  had  be- 
come very  depressed.  He  pitied  himself.  He 
watched  May's  legs  as  she  stretched  them  stiffly  be- 
fore her,  thin  little  legs.  Her  high  shoes  were 
loosely  laced  and  the  tops  bulged  away  from  her 
ankles.  Sweet.  He  reached  and  took  her  hand. 
Cold  little  hand!  May,  too  embarrassed  to  take 


NARCISSUS  37 

notice  of  his  gesture,  let  him  hold  it.  He  thought 
she  was  sweet.  He  might  like  to  kiss  her — maybe. 
Not  now.  He  could  not  bear  to  be  as  young  as  she 
was.  While  he  held  her  hand  it  came  over  him  that 
there  was  something  dark  and  sickly  in  himself. 
He  was  vain  that  she  could  not  understand  it.  Rot- 
ten. She's  a  kid.  He  tried  not  to  recognize  his 
pride  in  finding  himself  impure.  He  was  fed  up  with 
everything.  Hell! 

As  the  sun  disappeared  the  world  grew  suddenly 
bright,  and  long  red  rays  striped  the  tree  trunks  and 
the  grass,  endless  rays  reaching  softly  out  of  the 
gorgeous  welter  in  the  western  sky.  The  water 
twinkled  fixedly.  The  green  grass  was  like  mist  over 
the  fields. 

Paul  became  abruptly  agitated.  "Better  go  home, 
hadn't  we?" 

May  glanced  at  him  furtively.  His  eyes  made 
her  unhappy.  "I  suppose  we  had." 

They  got  up  awkwardly.  When  they  were  stand- 
ing he  let  her  hand  drop  as  if  it  had  been  nothing. 
She  walked  before  him,  a  little  girl  in  a  short  dress 
with  a  soft  braid  of  hair  hanging  under  a  red  cap. 

"You  don't  look  fifteen,  May." 

"Don't  I?" 


38  NARCISSUS 

He  tried  to  catch  up  with  her.  He  wondered 
what  he  was  afraid  of.  Her  voice  had  a  smothered 
sound,  almost  like  a  sob.  She  did  not  look  back. 

It  was  nearly  night  now.  The  sky  without  the 
sun  was  a  dark  burning  blue.  A  strange  cloud 
floated  white  above  the  black  trees. 

Paul  was  suddenly  happy  and  excited.  When  I 
get  home — Uncle  Alph — that  old  fool.  Aunt  Susie. 
They  were  married.  What  did  that  ever  mean! 
Purification  by  fire  is  all  that's  good  enough  for 
people  like  that.  A  sin  to  get  married  at  all.  If  I 
thought  people's  bodies  were  like  that!  Paul  won- 
dered to  himself  if  he  were  mad.  It  hurt  to  think 
through  things.  People  went  on  living  in  their 
filthy  world.  Thick  stockings  were  ugly.  May's 
legs.  Thin  little  legs  in  ugly  stockings.  Why 
doesn't  she  shine  her  shoes !  Little  rag  picker !  "Did 
you  know  that  you  were  an  untidy  person,  May?" 
he  called.  As  she  looked  back  over  her  shoulder  he 
could  feel  her  smile.  Her  vague  face  stared  pale  at 
him  down  the  path.  The  moon  was  floating  out 
from  the  trees,  pale  moon  like  a  face.  Thin  light 
stole  silver  along  the  branches  high  up.  Little 
moon,  said  Paul  to  himself,  staring  at  May's  face 
and  smiling.  He  felt  ill,  foolishly,  pleasantly  ill. 


NARCISSUS  39 

When  he  came  up  with  her  it  was  as  if  he  were  his 
own  shadow  walking  beside  her.  "Little  moon,  I 
love  you."  He  talked  under  his  breath.  He  scarcely 
wanted  her  to  hear  his  absurdity.  Then  he  placed 
his  arm  around  her.  Her  cold  sweet  thinness  was 
like  the  shadow  of  the  moon,  thin  and  still  on  the 
topmost  branch  of  the  strange  tree.  Her  small 
breast  swelled  against  his  hand  and  he  could  feel 
her  heart  beat.  "Oh,  May!"  He  kissed  her.  He 
kissed  the  silence  between  them.  "Gee,  kid!"  he 
said. 

"Paul,  dear." 

They  walked  along  together,  happy;  but  less 
happy  as  they  neared  the  hedge  that  cut  them  off 
from  the  street  and  the  glow  from  an  arc  lamp  be- 
gan to  fall  across  the  grass. 

When  they  stood  under  the  light  the  absurdity 
had  gone  from  Paul.  He  wondered  what  had 
happened  to  him  back  there  in  the  darkness.  He 
had  taken  his  arm  from  her  waist  and  now  he 
pressed  her  hands,  afraid  that  she  would  observe 
the  change  in  him.  "Good  night,  May,  child." 

May  was  tremulous  and  bewildered.  "Good  night, 
Paul."  She  tried  laboriously  to  fit  her  tone  to  his 
brotherly  kindliness. 


40  NARCISSUS 

MRS.  HURST  sat  with  Julia  at  tea  in  Julia's 
upstairs  room.  The  late  sun  stretched  tired 
rays  across  the  soft  blue  carpet.  The  yellow  cur- 
tains glowed  before  the  open  windows,  and,  flutter- 
ing apart,  showed  the  thick  foliage  of  the  trees  that 
screened  the  houses  opposite.  The  atmosphere  in- 
tensified the  very  immobility  of  the  furniture.  There 
was  a  voluptuous  finality  in  the  liquid  repose  of  light 
on  the  polished  floor  and  the  glint  of  a  glass  vase, 
where  needle  rays  of  brightness  were  transfixed 
among  the  stems  of  flowers. 

Julia  poured  tea  from  a  flat  vermilion  pot.  The 
tea  stood  clear  and  dark  in  the  black  cups.  Over 
the  two  women  hung  a  moist  bitter  odor,  the  bruised 
sweetness  of  withering  roses.  The  afternoon  smells 
of  dampened  dust  and  new-cut  grass  blew  in  from 
the  street. 

Mrs.  Hurst  took  her  cup  in  her  small,  slightly  un- 
steady hand,  and  sipped.  The  veins  were  growing 
large  and  hard  and  showed  through  the  delicately 
withered  skin  on  which  there  were  tiny  brown  spots 
like  stains.  She  wore  a  wedding  ring  rubbed  thin. 
"My  dear,  you  still  have  that  wonderful  old  Negress 
who  used  to  be  your  maid?  How  do  you  manage  to 


NARCISSUS  41 

keep  her?  I'm  always  struggling  with  some  fresh 
domestic  problem."  Mrs.  Hurst  smiled  and  with 
her  free  hand  settled  her  trim  glasses  on  her  neat 
nose.  Her  sweet  little  face,  turned  toward  Julia, 
showed  a  determined  insistence  on  negative  happi- 
ness. "I  think  we  have  a  great  deal  more  to  strug- 
gle with  than  our  grandmothers  did.  We  haven't 
only  our  homes  to  look  after,  but  our  social  respon- 
sibilities are  so  great."  Mrs.  Hurst  was  beautifully 
and  simply  dressed  in  gray,  and  the  soft  outline  of 
her  hat,  with  its  tilt  of  roses  at  the  back,  gave  an  air 
of  gallantry  to  her  faded  features,  which  were  those 
of  a  sophisticated  little  girl — the  face  of  a  woman 
of  forty-six  whose  sex  life  has  passed  away  without 
her  knowing  it. 

"I'm  afraid  I've  become  a  renegade  as  far  as  my 
social  responsibilities  are  concerned.  I  feel  myself 
so  inadequate  to  any  real  accomplishment,  Mrs. 
Hurst."  Julia  smiled  guardedly  and  resentfully. 
Something  in  her  wanted  to  destroy  the  delicate  ag- 
gressive repose  of  the  woman  opposite,  and  felt  help- 
less before  it. 

"Ah,  you  mustn't  feel  that,  my  dear.  All  of  us 
feel  it  at  times,  but  I  do  believe  that  it  depends  on 


42  NARCISSUS 

us  women  more  than  on  our  men  folk,  perhaps,  to 
allay  the  unrest  of  our  day.  Changing  conditions  of 
labor  have  taken  the  homes  away  from  so  many.  I 
think  we  should  carry  the  spirit  of  the  home  out  into 
the  world."  Mrs.  Hurst  made  a  plaintive  little 
moue  of  faded  sauciness.  As  men  were  obliterated 
from  her  personal  interests,  she  reverted  to  a  child's 
demure  coquetry  in  pleading  her  cause  with  her  own 
sex. 

"I  can't  look  upon  myself  as  the  person  for  such 
a  mission,"  Julia  said.  Her  eyes  and  lips  were  cold 
as  she  stared  pleasantly  at  her  visitor.  Julia  felt  a 
sudden  sharp  vanity  in  the  thought  of  the  sin  against 
society  which  initiated  her  into  another  life.  She 
was  confused  by  her  pride  in  adultery,  and  sought 
for  an  exalted  ethical  term  which  would  justify  her 
sense  of  glorying  in  her  act.  Dudley — his  hands 
upon  me.  I  couldn't  be  free.  Eagles.  The  ethics 
of  eagles.  Julia  knew  that  she  was  absurd.  She 
was  humiliated  and  defiant.  She  was  aware  of  her 
body  under  her  clothes  as  apart  from  her,  and  as 
though  it  were  the  only  thing  in  the  world  that 
lived.  It  was  terrible  to  feel  her  body  lost  from  her. 
She  fancied  this  was  what  people  meant  by  the  sense 


NARCISSUS  43 

of  nakedness.  When  Dudley  kissed  her  on  the  lips 
there  was  no  nakedness,  for  she  and  her  body  had 
the  same  existence.  She  despised  Mrs.  Hurst,  who 
separated  her  from  her  body.  "You  know  I  haven't 
a  real  genius  for  setting  the  world  right." 

Mrs.  Hurst  was  gentle  and  severe.  "We  can't 
afford  to  lose  you!  I  shall  ask  your  delightful  hus- 
band to  influence  you.  As  for  genius — I  imagine 
each  of  us  has  his  own  definition  of  that.  We  all 
think  you  showed  something  very  much  like  genius 
in  your  conduct  of  the  college  campaign  fund  last 
winter.  You  should  hear  Charles  expatiate  on  your 
cleverness  as  a  business  woman.  We  are  practical 
people,  Julia  Farley,  and  we  do  need  money.  It  is 
the  golden  key  which  opens  the  door  for  most  of  our 
ideals,  I'm  afraid." 

Julia  frowned  slightly  and  tried  to  control  her 
irritation.  "Why  can't  Mr.  Hurst  undertake  some 
of  the  financial  problems?  He  would  reduce  my 
poor  little  efforts  to  such  insignificance." 

"But  there  you  are,  my  dear!  Charles  lives  in  a 
man's  world.  He  doesn't  understand  these  things. 
Women  are  the  conscience  of  the  race."  Mrs.  Hurst 
smiled  again  and  in  her  small  mouth  showed  even 
rows  of  artificial  teeth. 


44  NARCISSUS 

WHEN  Julia  woke  in  the  night  beside  Laurence 
she  perceived  her  body  lying  there  naked  and 
apart,  and  hands  moving  over  it — horrible  and  secret 
hands.  In  the  daytime  in  the  street  the  body  walked 
with  her  outside  her  clothes.  With  strange  men  her 
consciousness  of  that  horrible  impersonal  flesh  that 
was  hers,  though  she  knew  nothing  of  it — though 
it  belonged  to  the  whole  world — was  most  acute. 

THE  curtains  moved  and  the  spots  of  light  on 
the  floor  opened  and  closed  like  eyes.  A  fly 
had  crept  inside  the  screens  and  made  a  singing 
noise  against  the  window.  A  vase  of  flowers  was  on 
the  table,  and  the  shadow  of  a  blossom,  rigid  and 
delicate,  fell  in  the  bar  of  sunshine  that  bleached  the 
polished  wood.  There  was  pale  sunshine  on  the 
chess  board  at  which  May  and  Paul  were  playing. 
Light  took  the  color  from  the  close-cropped  hair  at 
the  nape  of  Paul's  neck,  and,  when  May  glanced  up 
at  him,  filled  her  eyes  with  brilliant  vacancy  so  that 
she  looked  strange. 

May  bent  forward  again,  her  mouth  loose  in 
wonder. 

Paul  made  a  stupid  move. 

"Ah!    You've  lost  him!"  Aunt  Julia  said. 


NARCISSUS  45 

He  did  not  answer  her,  but  his  shoulders  took  a 
resentful  curve.  He  felt  as  if  the  veins  in  his  tem- 
ples were  bursting,  pouring  floods  of  darkness  before 
his  eyes.  He  wished  he  might  be  rid  of  her,  always 
there  in  the  room  beside  him  and  May.  He  pushed 
forward  another  piece. 

Aunt  Julia  came  and  stood  beside  him.  She 
leaned  down.  She  leaned  down  and  laid  her  hand  on 
his  arm.  "If  only  you  hadn't  lost  that  knight !" 

The  sound  of  her  voice  made  everything  dark 
again.  He  resented  her  more  than  he  had  ever  re- 
sented anything  on  earth. 

"Let  me  move  for  you  once,  Paul,  child." 

"But  that  won't  be  fair,  Aunt  Julia!"  May 
watched  them  with  a  sudden  brightening  and  dim- 
ming of  the  eyes.  She  was  startled  by  the  look  of 
Aunt  Julia's  faintly  flushed  face  so  close  to  Paul's. 
What  makes  him  look  like  that! 

"I'll  play  for  you,  dear,  too,"  Aunt  Julia  said. 
She  was  sorry  for  herself  because  her  loneliness 
made  her  want  even  the  children.  She  was  tender 
of  them.  They  could  not  understand  her.  She 
would  not  admit  to  herself  that  Paul's  response  to 
her  presence  thrilled  and  strengthened  her.  She 
wanted  to  be  kind  to  the  poor  awkward  boy.  May 


46  NARCISSUS 

was  such  a  baby.  "Will  you  let  me  move  your  pawn 
there,  May?" 

May  nodded.  She  was  restive.  She  wanted  to 
move  for  herself.  When  she  resumed  the  game  her 
eyes  became  wide  and  engrossed.  "Check!  Check!" 
She  came  out  of  her  delight.  She  was  clapping  the 
palms  of  her  thin  hands  and  they  made  a  muffled 
sound.  They  fell  apart  abruptly.  Once  more  Aunt 
Julia  was  leaning  close  to  Paul. 

"You  finished  me  all  right,  May." 

May  wondered  if  Paul  were  angry  with  her. 
What  made  his  eyes  so  hard! 

Julia  was  ashamed  before  May.  That  spineless 
little  girl!  Julia  wanted  to  leave  them  both.  May 
and  the  boy  hurt  her.  Her  body  was  so  alive  that 
her  awareness  of  herself  was  very  small.  She  was 
sure  of  her  existence  only  through  this  humiliating 
certainty  of  other  being.  Their  youth  seemed  dis- 
gusting to  her  and  she  wanted  to  leave  them  with  it. 
She  smiled  at  them  constrainedly.  The  two  figures 
swam  before  her.  "Good-by,  Paul.  I  must  leave 
you  children  and  attend  to  some  humdrum  duties 
below  stairs." 

"Good-by,"  Paul  said.  He  could  not  look  at  her. 
She  went  out.  The  stir  of  her  dress  died  away.  He 


NARCISSUS  47 

feared  to  hear  it  go  and  to  be  alone  with  something 
in  himself.  "I'm  sick  of  chess,  May.  I  must  be  go- 
ing too."  He  rose. 

"Must  you?"    May  got  up. 

Paul  went  to  the  table  and  took  his  cap.  He  won- 
dered why  she  was  so  still,  why  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  see  her.  When  he  turned  around  she  was 
watching  him  with  her  silly  timid  air.  It  repelled 
him  that  she  smiled  so  much  for  nothing  at  all.  His 
eyes  were  blank  with  distrust  of  her.  Why  does  she 
smile  like  that!  She  made  him  cruel.  He  hated 
her  for  making  him  cruel.  He  wanted  to  be  cruel. 
"You  seem  pretty  glad  to  get  rid  of  me!" 

"Why,  Paul!"  May  flashed  a  glance  at  him.  She 
stared  at  the  floor,  and  she  was  dying  in  the  obscure 
impression  of  moonlight  on  trees  near  a  park  gate. 

Paul  came  up  to  her  and,  with  the  surreptitious 
movement  of  a  sulky  child,  pressed  a  hard  kiss 
against  her  mouth. 

Before  she  could  respond  to  him  he  ran  out, 
through  the  hall  and  down  the  stairs  and  into  the 
street.  He  was  terrified  lest  he  should  see  Julia  be- 
fore he  could  leave  the  house.  Anything  but  May! 
He  didn't  want  May.  Aunt  Julia  always  coming 
close  to  him,  touching  him,  laying  her  hand  on  his. 


48  NARCISSUS 

He  felt  trapped  in  his  loathing  of  her.  Why  was  it 
he  could  never  forget  her! 

It  was  growing  dusk.  On  either  side  of  the  in- 
finite street  the  houses  were  vague.  The  trees  were 
like  plumes  of  shadow  waving  above  him.  The  stars 
in  the  sky,  that  yet  glowed  with  the  passing  of  the 
sun,  were  burning  dust.  He  tried  to  think  that  he 
was  mad.  Beyond  him  under  a  street  lamp  he  saw 
a  dimly  illumined  figure — big  buttocks  wagging  be- 
fore* him  under  a  thin  calico  skirt.  And  the  Negress 
passed  out  of  sight. 

By  the  time  he  reached  home  he  was  sick  of  him- 
self, thoroughly  dejected,  perceiving  the  vileness  of 
his  own  mind.  He  crept  up  the  back  stairs  unseen, 
and  in  his  small  room  lay  face  downward  on  his  bed. 
He  thought  he  ought  to  kill  himself  to  keep  from 
thinking  things  like  that.  Uncle  Alph  and  his  Aunt 
down  in  the  dining  room.  He  began  to  sob.  God, 
all  the  rottenness  in  the  world!  If  I  did  that  it 
would  be  outright  in  the  daytime.  I  wouldn't 
be  ashamed.  Naked  bodies  moved  before  him  in  a 
long  line.  They  were  ugly  because  he  wanted  to 
keep  them  out.  Aunt  Julia  was  there  and  even  May. 
He  would  not  see  them,  but  they  were  ugly.  Their 
ugliness  was  the  horror  that  enveloped  him.  He 


NARCISSUS  49 

knew  their  ugliness  because  it  became  a  part  of  him 
without  his  having  seen  it. 

There  was  something  beautiful  at  last.  It  was 
nakedness  that  belonged  to  no  one.  Nakedness 
without  a  face.  It  took  him.  He  was  asleep.  There 
were  breasts  in  the  darkness.  He  was  afraid.  He 
could  not  wake  up.  He  was  fear  and  he  was  afraid 
of  himself.  He  was  against  naked  breasts  that  held 
him,  that  he  could  not  see. 

MAY  tip-toed  down  the  dark  stairs,  her  small 
hand  sliding  along  the  cold  mysterious  rail. 
When  she  reached  the  lower  hall  she  saw  the  door 
of  the  study  open  and  Father  sitting  there  with 
Bobby  who  was  studying  and  very  intent  on  the 
book  he  held  upon  his  knees.  There  was  a  green 
lamp  on  the  desk  and  a  moth  bumping  against  the 
shade  and  shattering  its  wings.  The  light,  falling  on 
Father's  back,  made  the  strands  of  hair  twinkle  on 
his  drooped  head,  and  his  shoulders  looked  dusty  in 
the  black  coat  he  wore.  The  study  windows  were 
open.  Beyond  Father  was  the  dark  yard.  A  square 
of  the  sky  was  like  green  silk.  The  moon,  laid  on 
it  softly,  was  breathing  light  like  a  sea  thing,  glow- 
ing and  dying. 


50  NARCISSUS 

When  May  had  reassured  herself  of  this  un- 
changed world  she  tip-toed  up  to  her  room.  She 
wanted  to  undress  quickly  so  that  she  could  be  in 
bed  and  forget  everything  but  Paul's  unexpected 
kiss  and  the  new  cruel  feel  of  his  lips.  Now  that 
she  was  alone  she  wanted  to  forget  about  being 
ashamed.  She  had  a  curious,  almost  frightening,  in- 
timacy with  her  own  sensations.  She  wanted  to  go 
on  thinking  of  herself  forever  and  ever. 

DUDLEY'S  intuitions  were  capable  of  sensing 
what  might  be  called  the  psychological  es- 
sences of  those  about  him.  He  never  became  aware 
of  the  elusive  value  of  a  personality  without  wishing 
to  absorb  it  into  himself  so  that  it  became  a  part  of 
his  own  experience.  He  could  not  bear  to  lose  his 
sense  of  identity  with  those  from  whom  he  had  com- 
pelled such  contacts.  For  this  reason,  though  he  de- 
spised his  parents,  he  maintained  toward  them  the 
attitude  of  a  dutiful  son. 

It  was  the  same  with  all  the  friends  of  other  days. 
When  he  was  attracted  by  some  one  Dudley  initiated 
him  into  a  devastating  intimacy.  The  person,  for  a 
time,  would  yield  to  a  flattering  tyranny,  but,  in  the 
end,  would  rebel  against  the  inequality  of  possession. 


NARCISSUS  51 

Dudley  refuted  all  intellectual  justifications  of  pro- 
test, and  attributed  the  failure  of  his  friendships  to 
the  emotional  inadequacies  of  his  disciples. 

When  women  abandoned  their  sexual  defenses  to 
him,  however,  he  found  nothing  left  to  achieve. 
They  held  a  view  of  their  relationships  which  made 
the  subtler  kinds  of  personal  pride  unnecessary  to 
them.  If  they  had  received  in  life  any  spiritual  dis- 
figurements, they  were  only  too  ready  to  expose 
these  where  it  would  buy  them  a  little  pity  through 
which  they  might  insinuate  themselves  into  another 
soul.  Their  spiritual  instincts  were  as  promiscuous 
as  the  physical  expressions  of  embryo  life.  It  was 
only  as  regarded  their  bodies  that  they  showed  any- 
thing like  reserve.  Even  here  it  was  more  a  matter 
of  vanity  than  anything  else,  for  in  surrendering 
themselves  in  the  flesh  the  thing  they  seemed  most 
to  fear  was  that  once  they  were  revealed  they  would 
not  be  sufficiently  admired.  It  was  irritating  to  feel 
that  when  they  abandoned  everything  to  a  man  they 
but  attained  to  a  subtler  possession. 

Not  long  before  meeting  Julia,  Dudley  passed 
through  an  experience  in  which  he  narrowly  avoided 
matrimony.  The  girl  had  appeared  to  be  peculiarly 
submissive  to  his  influence;  but  at  a  time  when  his 


52  NARCISSUS 

complacency  had  allowed  him  to  feel  most  tender  of 
her  she  had  evaded  him.  If  she  had  been  less  pre- 
cipitate he  would  have  married  her.  He  was  thank- 
ful for  the  circumstance  which  had  saved  him,  and 
when  he  corresponded  with  her  he  called  her  "my 
dear  sister,"  or  "my  very  dear  friend".  Now  that  she 
had  abandoned  him  he  was  more  generous  toward 
her  than  he  had  ever  been.  He  knew  that  one  could 
give  one's  self  in  an  impersonal  gesture.  But  it  was 
very  tricky  to  take  from  others.  He  wrote  her  that 
he  must  learn  to  function  alone,  that  it  was  the 
artist's  life.  She  could  never  explain  to  herself  why 
it  was  that  she  resented  so  deeply  his  condemnation 
of  his  own  weakness  and  his  reiteration  of  his  need 
of  the  isolation  and  suffering  which  would  clarify  his 
inner  vision. 

Dudley  hinted  to  all  the  women  he  met  that  Art 
was  his  mistress  and  that  he  could  not  permit  him- 
self to  approach  them  seriously  without  subjecting 
them  to  the  injustice  of  this  rivalry.  The  physical 
terrors  of  his  childhood  had  aggravated  his  caution. 
His  inward  distress  was  terrible  when  he  was  obliged 
to  reconcile  his  resistance  to  the  world  outside  him 
with  the  ideal  of  the  great  artist  which  commanded 
him  to  abandon  himself  to  all  that  came.  His  desire, 


NARCISSUS  53 

even  as  regarded  material  things,  was  to  hoard 
everything  that  contributed  to  the  erection  of  a  bar- 
rier between  him  and  the  ruthless  struggle  of  men. 
He  longed  for  commercial  success,  and  he  displayed 
an  ostentatious  indifference  to  the  salableness  of  his 
work.  He  had  a  physical  attachment  for  his  pos- 
sessions. 

He  hated  gatherings  of  all  sorts  unless  they  were 
of  friends  who  would  respond  to  all  he  had  to  say 
and  whom  he  might  insidiously  dominate.  Yet  he 
had  encountered  Julia  first  at  the  home  of  Mrs. 
Hurst,  whose  bourgeois  pretensions  to  esthetic  in- 
terest he  despised.  These  heterogeneous  assemblies 
gave  him  the  cold  impression  of  a  mob.  Anything 
which  affected  him  and  at  the  same  time  evaded  him 
was  unadmittedly  alarming.  He  had  not  appeared 
at  his  best  that  night  until  he  was  able  to  lead  Julia 
aside  and  talk  to  her  alone.  Then  he  became  sud- 
denly at  ease.  There  was  a  slightly  bitter  humility 
about  her  confessions  of  ignorance  that  made  him 
feel  her  potentially  appreciative  in  a  genuine  sense. 

Strangely  enough  the  frankness  of  her  self-depre- 
ciation disarmed  him.  He  felt  that  he  must  search 
for  a  hidden  pretension  that  would  show  her  weak 
and  allow  him  an  approach.  Wherever  she  displayed 


54  NARCISSUS 

symptoms  of  confidence  he  confronted  her  with  her 
dependence  on  illusion.  He  told  himself  that  all 
that  one  individual  owed  another  was  the  means  to 
truth.  Believing  in  the  dignity  of  self-responsi- 
bility, he  could  not  assume  the  burden  of  Julia's 
discouragement.  He  imagined  her  unhappy.  If 
he  helped  her  to  see  herself  he  was  aiding  her  to 
attain  the  only  ultimate  values  in  life. 

After  he  and  Julia  became  lovers  he  was  troubled 
not  a  little  by  the  necessity  for  concealment,  for  he 
had  told  her  so  frequently  that  her  relation  to 
Laurence  had  been  falsified  by  the  accumulation  of 
reserves. 

DUDLEY  had  said  so  often  that  he  considered 
Laurence  a  repressed  and  misunderstood  man 
that  Julia,  with  an  antagonism  which  she  did  not 
confess  to  herself,  asked  her  lover  to  dine  at  her 
home.  Meeting  Dudley  as  Laurence's  wife  again 
put  her  on  the  offensive  regarding  everything  that 
concerned  her  house  and  the  usual  circumstances  of 
her  existence.  She  had  never  taken  such  care  in 
composing  a  meal  as  she  did  for  this  occasion,  and 
she  spent  half  an  hour  arranging  the  flowers  in  a 
low  bowl  on  the  table. 


NARCISSUS  55 

When  Dudley  came  he  greeted  Laurence  with  pe- 
culiar eagerness.  Julia  found  it  hard  to  forgive  her 
lover  for  making  himself  ridiculous. 

During  dinner  the  guest  led  the  talk  which  was 
exclusively  between  the  two  men.  He  insisted  on 
discussing  bacteriological  subjects  with  Laurence. 
Laurence  deferred  politely  to  Dudley's  ignorance. 

The  large  room  in  which  they  sat  was  lighted  by 
the  candles  at  either  end  of  the  long  table.  The 
glow,  like  a  bright  shadow,  was  reflected  in  the  dark 
woodwork  and  against  the  obscure  walls.  Through 
the  tall  open  windows  the  wind  brought  the  warm 
night  in  with  a  soft  rush  of  blackness.  Then  the  pale 
candle  flames  flattened  into  fans  and  the  wax  slipped 
with  a  hiss  into  the  burnished  holders. 

Laurence  was  humped  in  his  chair  as  usual,  so 
that  the  rough  collar  of  his  coat  rose  up  behind 
against  his  neck.  Most  of  the  time  as  he  talked  he 
stared  straight  before  him;  but  occasionally  he 
glanced  with  his  small  pained  eyes  into  Dudley's  en- 
grossed and  persistent  face. 

Julia  saw  with  unusual  clearness  everything  that 
Laurence  said  and  did.  She  was  possessively  aware 
of  his  gestures,  and  when  he  spoke  easily  and  flu- 
ently of  his  work  she  had  a  proprietary  satisfaction 


56  NARCISSUS 

in  it,  and  was  full  of  animosity  toward  Dudley's 
questioning. 

She  felt  betrayed  by  Dudley,  who  approached 
Laurence  by  ignoring  her  mediumship.  She  could 
not  bear  the  admission  of  Dudley's  power  to  exclude 
her.  They  could  only  live  in  each  other.  She  gave 
him  life  in  her,  but  he  obliterated  her  from  him- 
self, and  so  condemned  her  to  a  sort  of  death.  And 
while  she  was  dead  he  gave  Laurence  her  life.  She 
was  dead  and  alone  with  her  body  that  was  so  alive. 
She  felt  her  breasts  swelling  loathsomely  under  her 
crisp  green  muslin  dress,  and  her  long  hidden  legs 
stretched  horribly  from  the  darkness  of  her  hips. 
Her  live  body  possessed  her  stupidly.  If  only  he 
would  take  it  from  her!  If  only  with  one  glance  he 
would  admit  her  to  himself! 

As  they  passed  from  the  dining  room  Julia 
touched  Laurence  despairingly.  He  saw  her  wor- 
ried smile.  "You're  warm,  dear/'  she  said.  And 
she  added,  "I  wonder  how  our  children  fared  up- 
stairs, eating  alone  in  state."  She  wanted  to  compel 
Laurence  into  the  atmosphere  of  domestic  intimacies 
where  her  guest  had  no  part. 

"I  wonder."    He  returned  her  smile  abstractedly 


NARCISSUS  57 

and  spoke  to  Dudley  again.  "You  know  Weissman 
of  Berlin— " 

Julia  looked  unconsciously  tragic  and  bit  her  lip. 
"Have  you  been  able  to  arrange  for  your  exhibition, 
Dudley?"  she  interrupted  demandingly.  Her  voice 
was  sharp. 

"Why,  no — "  Dudley  glanced  at  her  with  pleas- 
ant interrogation.  "You  were  saying — about  Weiss- 
man?" He  was  nai've  like  a  child  unconscious  of 
rudeness. 

When  they  came  to  the  staircase  Laurence  went 
on  ahead  because  of  the  light.  Dudley  took  Julia's 
arm,  bare  to  the  elbow.  She  shuddered  away  from 
him.  She  was  observing  his  strut,  the  way  he 
walked,  his  weight  bearing  on  his  heels.  When  the 
glow  from  the  upper  hall  fell  on  them  she  saw  his 
short  arms  held  stiffly  at  his  sides,  the  black  down 
clinging  on  his  wrists  and  the  backs  of  his  hands,  the 
twinkle  of  his  crisp  reddish  mustache  that  appeared 
artificially  imposed  on  his  small,  almost  womanish, 
face,  and  the  thick  black  curls,  soft  and  a  little  oily, 
that  clung  about  his  ill-formed  head.  She  disliked 
even  the  careful  carelessness  of  his  dress. 

But  her  loathing  of  him  was  after  all  only  horror 


58  NARCISSUS 

of  herself.  If  he  had  given  her  a  look  of  acceptance 
.she  would  have  become  one  with  him.  Then  it  would 
have  been  impossible  to  see  him  so  separately.  She 
wanted  to  explain  the  horror  to  him.  If  he  had 
known  her  thoughts  he  could  not  have  endured  them, 
and  he  would  have  saved  them  both. 

But  he  was  separate  and  satisfied  in  himself. 
"Julia/7  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "Laurence  Farley  is  a 
remarkable  person.  There  is  something  in  the  dig- 
nity of  his  reserve  that  puts  us  to  shame.  My  God, 
what  a  tragedy  he  is!  He  interests  me  tremendously. 
I'm  grateful  to  you  for  letting  me  know  him." 

Julia  felt  hateful  that  he  presumed  to  tell  her  this. 
She  had  always  spoken  gratefully  of  Laurence.  She 
had  much  pride  in  her  pain  in  never  finding  excuses 
for  herself. 

"He  isn't  sophisticated  in  our  sense,"  Dudley  said, 
"but  he  makes  me  feel  that  there  is  something 
puerile  and  immature  in  both  of  us." 

Julia  said,  in  a  hard  voice,  "I  don't  think  I  have 
ever  failed  in  appreciation  of  Laurence."  Sud- 
denly she  realized  that  both  these  men  were  strangers 
to  her,  that  she  loved  and  wanted  only  herself.  Her 
despair  was  so  complete  that  it  relieved  her,  and  she 
could  scarcely  hold  back  the  tears. 


NARCISSUS  59 

DUDLEY  wanted  to  despise  Laurence.  There 
was  something  in  the  personality  of  Julia's 
husband  which  defied  contempt.  If  Laurence  had 
displayed  any  crass  desire  for  recognition  Dudley 
would  have  passed  him  by  with  relief;  but  the  artist 
wished  to  force  all  sensitive  natures  to  admit  that 
their  secrets  could  not  be  hidden. 

Laurence's  regard  for  Julia  was  full  of  the  con- 
descension of  maturity.  He  gave  to  her  where  it 
was  impossible  for  him  to  take.  Dudley  had  always 
despised  her  a  little,  and  now  the  fact  that  her  hus- 
band excluded  her  from  his  suffering  was  testimony 
of  her  inadequacy.  Without  admitting  it  to  himself, 
Dudley  was  beginning  to  resist  being  associated 
with  her.  He  reflected  that  it  was  grotesque  to 
dream  of  finding  understanding  in  such  a  struggling 
and  incomplete  nature.  Julia  was  possessive.  The 
heroic  woman  must  rise  above  this  instinct. 

Her  breasts  were  a  little  old,  her  body  thin.  He 
remembered  the  angularity  of  her  hips,  the  too  long 
line  of  her  back.  He  saw  her  eyes  uplifted  to  his 
with  that  pained,  withheld  look  which  annoyed  him 
so  much.  Her  skin  was  very  white,  but  a  little 
coarse.  When  she  put  her  arms  about  him  her  hair, 
all  disarranged,  fell  wild  and  heavy  about  her 


60  NARCISSUS 

strained  throat.  He  did  not  wish  to  admit  that  he 
had  discovered  his  mistress  to  be  less  beautiful  than, 
in  the  beginning,  he  had  imagined  her.  He  revolted 
against  these  obvious  judgments  of  the  senses.  It 
was  unpleasant  to  recall  her  so  distinctly.  He  pitied 
her  mental  incompleteness  which  made  it  impossible 
to  give  her  the  purer  values  which  he  wanted  to 
share  with  her. 

Dudley  congratulated  himself  on  a  curiously  sen- 
sitive understanding  of  what  Laurence  had  endured. 
To  escape  the  unpleasant  vision  of  Julia's  body  and 
the  dumb  gaze  which  fatigued  him  so  much  he  con- 
centrated all  his  reflections  on  his  magnanimous  sym- 
pathy for  the  man. 

He  felt  that  face  to  face  with  Julia  he  would  never 
be  able  to  explain  to  her  what  he  perceived  in  regard 
to  her  husband,  so  he  wrote  her  a  letter  about  it. 
"Laurence  Farley  is  our  equal,  Julia,"  he  wrote. 
"We  owe  it  to  ourselves  to  treat  him  as  such.  Now 
that  I  have  had  the  opportunity  to  observe  and  ap- 
preciate his  rare  qualities  I  know  that  the  relation 
between  you  and  me  will  never  fulfil  its  deep  promise 
while  this  lie  exists  between  you  and  him.  The 
truth  will  be  hard,  but  he  is  big  enough  to  bear  it. 
He  is  a  man  who  has  suffered  from  the  American  en- 


NARCISSUS  61 

vironment,  and  has  been  warped  and  drawn  away 
from  his  true  self.  If  his  scientific  erudition  had 
been  fostered  in  an  atmosphere  which  loved  learning 
for  its  own  sake,  he  would  have  been  able  to  ex- 
press himself.  He  has  the  ripe  nature  of  a  savant. 
I  feel  that  meeting  with  you  both  has  a  rare  mean- 
ing for  me.  We  must  all  suffer  in  this  thing.  Per- 
haps he  most,  except  that  I  must  suffer  alone.  You 
and  he  are  close — in  spite  of  everything  you  are 
close.  Closer  perhaps  than  even  you  and  I  have 
been.  But  I  must  learn,  Julia.  I  am  struggling  yet. 
I  have  farther  to  go  than  he  has,  in  spite  of  my  su- 
perior knowledge  of  certain  things,  of  worlds  of 
which  he  has  never  become  cognizant.  I  have  not 
yet  learned  as  he  has  to  rise  above  myself.  In  my 
slow  way  I  shall  do  so.  I  shall  learn,  Julia,  and  you 
shall  help  me — you  two  people.  I  want  him  to  be 
my  friend.  I  respect  him.  I  love  you  both.  Oh, 
Julia,  how  deeply,  deeply  I  have  loved  you." 

When  Dudley  had  dispatched  this  letter  he  found 
himself  liberated  from  many  obscure  depressions 
that  had  been  hampering  his  spirit.  The  important 
thing  in  Julia's  life  was  her  relation  to  Laurence. 
He,  Dudley,  would  accept  the  fact  that  he  was  only 
an  incident  in  her  struggle  to  achieve  herself. 


62  NARCISSUS 

Yet  he  was  disconcerted  by  the  premonition  that 
her  interpretation  of  what  he  had  done  would  not 
be  his.  He  was  in  furtive  terror  of  being  made 
ridiculous. 

THROUGH  the  tall,  open  windows  of  the  dining 
room,  Julia,  seated  with  some  mending,  could 
see  the  dull  line  of  the  roofs  in  the  next  street,  and 
the  dreary  sky  shadowed  with  soiled  milky-looking 
clouds.  The  grass  in  the  back  yard  was  a  bright 
dead  green.  It  had  grown  tall.  Flurries  of  moist 
acrid  wind  swept  across  it,  and  it  bent  all  at  once 
with  a  long,  undulant  motion  that  was  like  voluptu- 
ous despair.  The  table  cloth  rose  heavily  and  fell  in 
a  spent  gesture  against  the  legs  under  it.  Julia's 
black  muslin  dress  beat  gently  about  her  ankles. 

Then  the  wind  passed.  The  grass  blades  were 
fixed  and  still.  In  the  silent  room  the  ticking  of  a 
small  clock  on  a  secretaire  sounded  labored  and 
blatant.  The  odor  of  the  cake  that  Nellie  was  bak- 
ing filled  the  warm  air. 

Julia  heard  the  postman's  whistle  and  Nellie's 
heavy  step  in  the  hall.  Julia  thought  of  Nellie,  of 
the  old  woman's  sureness  and  silence — a  lean  old 
savage  woman  of  many  lovers.  In  all  the  years  that 


NARCISSUS  63 

the  old  Negress  had  been  there  she  had  never  showed 
the  need  of  a  confidant.  Her  children  had  aban- 
doned her  and  she  had  no  tie  with  any  human  crea- 
ture save  the  old  man  whom  she  supported  who  came 
sometimes  to  do  odd  chores. 

Julia  wondered  what  had  poisoned  the  white  race 
and  given  it  the  need  of  sanction  from  some  outside 
source.  She  wanted  a  justification  of  herself,  but 
did  not  know  from  what  quarter  she  should  de- 
mand it. 

Nellie  entered  with  a  letter  and  Julia,  recognizing 
the  handwriting  at  once,  left  it  on  the  table  without 
opening  it.  As  long  as  the  letter  lay  on  the  table 
unknown  she  controlled  its  contents. 

She  turned  her  back  to  it  and  watched  the 
branches  of  the  elm  tree,  which  were  stirring  again, 
heavily  and  ceaselessly,  against  the  fence.  Her 
needle  pricked  her  finger  and  a  rust-colored  stain 
spread  in  the  bit  of  lace  which  she  was  mending. 
The  sun  burst  through  the  clouds  and  the  room  was 
filled  with  the  shadowless  glare,  and  with  moist  in- 
tense heat. 

Julia  suddenly  took  up  the  letter  and  tore  it  open 
with  a  nervous  jerk.  She  dropped  her  needle. 


64  NARCISSUS 

Where  it  fell  on  the  polished  floor  it  made  a  tinkling 
sound  like  a  falling  splinter  of  glass. 

She  did  not  question  or  analyze  Dudley's  state- 
ment of  his  mood.  All  she  knew  was  that  he  was 
flinging  her  away  from  him  into  herself.  There  was 
something  composed  and  final  about  the  letter. 
When  she  reread  it,  it  overcame  her  with  helpless- 
ness. The  lie  she  had  lived  in  had  burdened  her, 
and  she  could  not  justify  her  resentment  of  the  sug- 
gestion that  she  tell  the  truth. 

LATER  in  the  day  Dudley  called  Julia  on  the 
telephone.  He  wanted  to  arrange  a  meeting 
with  her.  He  refused  to  admit  to  himself  that  the 
strained  note  he  observed  in  her  voice  caused  him 
uneasiness.  He  had  to  prove  to  himself  his  complete 
conviction  of  the  righteousness  of  what  he  demanded 
of  her.  He  suggested  a  walk  in  the  park,  and  Julia 
experienced  a  resentful  pang  of  exultance  because 
she  imagined  that  he  was  not  strong  enough  to  have 
her  come  to  his  rooms.  She  contemplated,  as  a 
means  of  defiance,  taking  him  too  much  at  his  word. 

TT  THITE  clouds  filled  with  gray-brown  stains 

V  V     flowed   over   the  hidden   sky.     Here   and 

there  the  clouds  broke  and  the  aperture  dilated  until 


NARCISSUS  65 

it  disclosed  the  deep  angry  blue  behind  it.  In  the 
center  of  the  park  the  lake,  cold  and  lustrous  like 
congealing  oil,  swelled  heavily  in  the  wind,  but  now 
and  again  lapsed  with  the  weight  of  a  profound  in- 
ertia. The  trees,  with  tossing  limbs,  had  the  same 
oppressed  and  resisting  look  as  they  swung  toward 
the  water  above  their  dying  reflections. 

Julia,  seated  on  a  bench  away  from  the  path, 
waited  for  Dudley  to  come.  When  she  saw  him  far 
off  all  of  her  rose  against  him.  She  could  not  hate 
him  enough.  She  subsided  into  herself  like  the  cold 
lustrous  water  drawn  toward  its  own  depths.  She 
felt  bitter  and  shriveled  by  desperation.  She  was 
unhappy  because  she  could  not,  at  this  moment,  love 
herself. 

Dudley  was  disconcerted  by  his  own  excitement 
as  he  approached  her.  There  was  something  spiritu- 
ally gauche  in  the  exaggerated  simplicity  of  his  man- 
ner. He  knew  that  his  affectionate  smile  was  an  at- 
tempt to  disarm  her,  and  that  his  combative  and 
questioning  eyes  showed  his  uneasiness.  It  was 
hard  for  him  to  forgive  her  when  she  made  him  feel 
absurd  like  this.  A  guilty  sensation  overpowered 
him.  He  considered  the  emotion  unwarranted,  at- 
tributed it  to  her  suggestion,  and  held  it  against  her 


66  NARCISSUS 

as  a  grudge.  At  this  instant  he  could  allow  her  no 
equality  so  he  made  himself  feel  kind.  "Dear!" 
He  took  her  cold  fingers  in  his  moist  plump  hand. 
Their  unresponsiveness  pained  him.  He  dropped 
them  and  went  on  smiling  at  her  interrogatively.  "I 
had  to  talk  to  you,"  he  said  at  last.  His  voice  was 
subdued.  His  smile  disappeared.  He  recognized 
that  he  was  depressed  and  wounded. 

Julia  wanted  to  ask  him  what  he  expected  her  to 
do  with  her  life  after  she  had  told  Laurence  every- 
thing, and  it  was  no  longer  possible  for  them  to  live 
in  the  same  house.  She  had  greeted  Dudley.  Now 
her  mouth  took  a  sarcastic  twist  and  she  found  her- 
self unable  to  speak.  She  stared  straight  at  the 
lake,  which  was  beginning  to  twinkle  with  cold  lights 
under  the  gray  luminous  sky.  She  shivered  when 
Dudley  seated  himself  beside  her. 

Before  he  could  tell  her  what  was  in  him,  he  had 
to  harden  himself.  "Fm  suffering  deeply,  Julia. 
You  are  suffering.  I  see  it.  It  is  only  the  little  per- 
son who  doesn't  suffer.  Why  do  you  resent  me? 
Life  is  always  making  patterns.  It  has  thrown  us 
three — you  and  me,  and  your  husband — into  a  de- 
sign— a  relationship  to  each  other.  No  matter  what 
happens  we  ought  to  be  glad.  We  may  come  to 


NARCISSUS  67 

mean  terrific  things  to  each  other,  Julia — all  three 
of  us.  This  is  a  new  experience.  We  mustn't  be 
afraid  of  it."  When  he  noted  her  set  profile  he  felt 
querulous  toward  her,  but  he  controlled  himself  and 
tried  to  take  her  hand  again.  If  she  had  protested 
in  argument  he  might  have  talked  to  her  about  the 
strong  soul's  right  to  truth,  and  made  clearer  to  him- 
self what,  in  the  darkness  of  his  own  spirit,  he  had 
to  confess  was  still  a  little  vague. 

Julia  glanced  at  him.  Her  gaze  was  steady  and 
bewildered.  "Of  course  I  owe  it  to  Laurence.  I 
want  to  talk  to  Laurence.  I  would  have  done  this 
of  my  own  free  will.  I  loathe  the  lie  I've  been  liv- 
ing!" She  spoke  coldly  and  vehemently.  Tears 
came  into  her  eyes  and  she  averted  her  face. 

Dudley  was  silent  a  moment.  He  twisted  his 
mustache  and  one  of  his  small  bright  eyes  squinted 
nervously.  He  could  not  bear  the  pride  of  her  mouth. 
At  the  moment  all  pride  seemed  ugly  to  him.  It 
was  impossible  to  call  further  attention  to  his  pain 
in  the  contemplation  of  renouncing  her  while  she 
continued  to  maintain,  almost  vindictively,  it  ap- 
peared, her  readiness  to  abandon  herself  to  him. 

"I  can't  put  what  I  feel  into  words,  Julia,  but 
it  is  something  very  beautiful  and  deep.  Come, 


68  NARCISSUS 

sister,  you're  not  angry  with  me?"  Again  he  took 
her  stiff  hand  in  his.  She  was  humiliating  him  and 
he  would  not  forget  it. 

Julia  wished  that  she  could  hurt  him  in  a  way 
which  would  make  it  impossible  for  him  to  talk 
to  her  so  kindly.  She  did  not  understand  why  the 
recognition  of  his  absurdity  made  her  suffer  so  much. 

Dudley  had  been  floundering  inwardly  through 
the  attempt  to  avoid  facing  the  ridiculous.  Watch- 
ing the  harsh  bitter  line  of  her  lips,  he  noticed  the 
pulse  that  swelled  and  fluttered  in  her  throat.  The 
sight  of  her  pain,  for  which  he  was  responsible,  made 
him  feel  all  at  once  very  sure  and  complete.  He 
accepted  no  burden  from  it,  for  he  told  himself  it 
was  a  part  of  her  awakening  to  detached  and  perfect 
understanding.  He  was  grateful  to  himself  that  he 
had  an  ideal  notion  of  what  she  might  be  that  held 
him  cruelly  and  steadily  against  all  that  she  was. 
He  felt  voluptuously  intimate  with  her  emotions. 
He  could  not  hurt  her  enough.  He  tried  to  shut 
out  the  recollection  of  her  beautiful  gaunt  body 
in  its  almost  tragic  nakedness.  "I  don't  expect  you 
to  understand  me  completely  yet,  Julia.  One's 
vision  is  so  warped  and  tortured  by  one's  desire. 
All  our  terminology  of  good  and  bad  we  use  in  such 


NARCISSUS  69 

a  limited  personal  sense.  We  have  to  get  away 
from  that  before  we  can  even  begin  to  function 
spiritually — to  be  spiritually  at  rest.  I  feel  that 
there  are  clouds  between  us,  Julia,  but  behind  them 
is  the  great  sun  of  your  understanding.  I  believe 
in  that.  Say  something  to  me!" 

Julia  withdrew  her  hand.  "What  can  I  say  to 
you?  I  am  in  the  habit  of  viewing  problems  very 
concretely.  Let  me  go.  I  must  go."  She  stood 
up,  smiling  at  him  desperately. 

He  wanted  to  destroy  the  smile  behind  which  she 
was  trying  to  hide,  and  to  explain  to  her  that  the 
torture  he  caused  her  was  the  price  of  his  very 
nearness.  It  had  been  almost  a  pleasure  for  him 
to  feel  her  hand  twitch  with  repugnance.  It  was 
sad  that  she  comprehended  so  little  of  his  nature. 
Yet  he  was  sensible  of  the  helplessness  of  hatred. 
Knowing  that  she  hated  him,  for  the  first  time  he 
ceased  to  fear  her  and  could  give  himself  to  un- 
calculated  reactions  toward  her.  He  thought  that 
if  she  were  to  remain  his  mistress  in  a  conventional 
relation  he  could  not  love  her  like  this.  The  artist 
was,  after  all,  he  told  himself,  like  the  priest,  the 
mediator  between  the  life  of  mankind  and  its  mys- 
tical source. 


70  NARCISSUS 

But  Julia  moved  away  without  looking  at  him. 
He  watched  her  pass  along  the  edge  of  the  lake, 
where  threads  of  light  as  fine  as  hairs  were  drawn 
hot  and  trembling  across  the  colorless  water. 

Dudley  continued  to  feel  embarrassment  in  his 
own  soul,  for  he  could  not  clearly  explain  to  him- 
self the  impulses  which  were  governing  his  acts. 
He  decided  that  only  through  his  art  would  he 
be  able  to  justify  all  that  he  was  when,  at  the 
moment  of  giving  Julia  back  to  herself,  he  was 
conscious  of  possessing  her  most  intensely.  He  was 
at  his  ease  only  in  the  midst  of  powerful  abstrac- 
tions. There  was  something  elephantine  about  his 
nature  that  prevented  him  from  being  simple  or 
casual  in  his  moods.  If  he  ever  indulged  in  ex- 
pressions that  were  light  or  commonplace  he  was 
suspicious  of  his  own  appearance.  He  was  startled 
sometimes  when  he  had  to  admit  the  maliciousness 
of  his  reactions  toward  the  smaller  souls  around  him. 
If  he  laughed  in  a  gay  group  his  laughter  sounded 
awkward  and  strained.  Perhaps  it  was  because  of 
his  small  effeminate  stature  that  he  felt  it  necessary 
to  hurt  people  before  he  could  command  their  re- 
spect. 
At  this  moment  the  conviction  of  his  power  filled 


NARCISSUS  71 

him  with  an  intoxication  of  gentleness.  He  felt  that 
he  enveloped  Laurence  and  Julia  as  if  in  the  same 
embrace.  That  he  was  beginning  to  have  a  peculiar 
affection  for  Laurence  proved  to  him  the  significance 
of  his  own  unique  spirit,  Realizing  completely  that 
neither  Julia  nor  her  husband  could  approach  his 
understanding,  he  loved  them  for  their  inferiority. 
As  he  walked  along  the  path  toward  the  blank  glare 
where  the  sun  was  setting  among  black  branches, 
he  noticed  a  terrier  puppy  rolling  in  the  polished 
grass,  and  had  for  it  something  of  the  same  emotion. 
He  loved  everything  in  relation  to  which  he  found 
himself  in  a  position  of  advantage.  Approaching 
thus  he  believed  he  could  preserve  a  philosophic 
detachment  while  perceiving  what  Spinoza  called 
"the  objective  essence  of  things." 


PART  II 

MAY  went  to  see  her  Grandmother  Farley. 
May  dreaded  the  visit.  When  she  arrived 
there  she  sat  in  the  dining  room,  smiling  and  lis- 
tening to  her  grandmother's  talk,  and  feeling  small 
and  mindless  as  she  had  felt  as  a  child.  In  the  old 
Farley  home  May  was  always  like  that,  like  some- 
thing asleep  possessed  by  itself  in  a  shining  un- 
broken dream.  She  wanted  to  get  back  to  Aunt 
Julia,  who  took  her  life  out  of  her  and  showed  it 
to  her  so  that  she  knew  the  shape  of  its  thoughts. 
Old  Mrs.  Farley  gave  May  cookies  from  the 
cake  box,  and  Grandpapa  Farley,  who  did  not  go  to 
his  office  any  longer,  took  his  granddaughter  into 
the  back  yard  and  showed  her  his  vegetable  garden. 
He  was  kindly  too,  but,  when  this  tall  stooping 
elderly  man  with  his  handsome  white  head  looked 
with  vague  eyes  at  her,  she  fancied  that  he  also  was 
asleep  and  could  not  see  her.  She  was  a  little 
frightened  of  her  silly  thoughts  about  him.  Aunt 
Julia  could  have  told  her  what  she  wanted  to  say. 

73 


74  NARCISSUS 

"And  how  is  your  father?"  Grandmama  Farley 
asked  in  a  dry  voice.  "We  can't  expect  him  to 
come  to  see  us  very  often.  His  wife  is  so  busy  with 
clubs  and  movements  she  has  no  time  for  us  and 
I  suppose  he  can't  leave  her." 

May  was  cautious  and  timid  in  the  presence  of 
her  grandmother.  There  was  something  obscure 
and  remote  about  the  old  woman's  engrossed  ^ce, 
her  squinting  eyes  that  gazed  at  one  as  from  an 
infinitely  projected  distance,  her  puckered  lips  with 
their  self-righteous  twist.  May  smiled  helplessly, 
not  knowing  how  to  reply. 

"I  suppose  Mrs.  Julia  is  bringing  you  up  to  have 
the  wider  interests  she  talks  about  when  she  is 
here.  You  want  to  vote,  I  suppose,  don't  you?" 
Mrs.  Farley  squinted  a  smile.  Her  humor  had  an 
acrid  flavor. 

May  giggled  apologetically.  "I  don't  think  I  care 
much  about  voting,  Grandmother.  I  don't  think 
Aunt  Julia  is  trying  to  make  me  like  anything  in 
particular." 

"I'm  making  bread.  Your  grandfather  has  to 
have  his  bread  just  right,"  Mrs.  Farley  said.  She 
went  into  the  kitchen. 

May  hesitated,  then  followed  her. 


NARCISSUS  75 

The  clean  room  was  full  of  sunlight.  Mrs.  Far- 
ley took  down  the  bread  pans  and  began  to  work 
the  stiff  dough  on  a  floured  board.  Her  knotted 
fingers  sank  tremulously  into  the  bulging  white  stuff. 
The  dough  made  a  snapping  noise  when  she  turned 
it  and  patted  it.  "I  suppose  it  would  be  a  waste 
of  time  for  you  to  learn  to  make  bread,  May." 

Behind  the  old  lady  the  stove  was  dazzling  black 
with  its  brilliant  nickel  ornaments.  The  tin  flour 
sifter  on  the  table  beside  her  was  filled  with  fiery 
reflections.  The  stiff  white  muslin  curtains  before 
the  open  windows  made  lisping,  scraping  noises  as 
the  wind  folded  them  over  and  brushed  them  along 
the  lifted  panes.  Mrs.  Farley  glanced  from  time 
to  time  at  May,  and,  with  dim  hostility,  noted  the 
slight  angular  little  figure  seated  so  ill-at-ease  on 
the  rush-bottomed  chair,  the  darkened  eyes  with 
their  chronic  expression  of  melancholy  and  elation, 
the  heavy  braid  of  flaxen  hair  that  hung  with  a  curi- 
ous soft  weight  between  the  small  stooping  shoul- 
ders. Mrs.  Farley  found  May's  continual  smile, 
her  sweet  relaxed  lips  and  the  large  uneven  white 
teeth  that  showed  between,  peculiarly  irritating. 
"You  want  another  cake,  eh?"  she  flung  out  at  last 
with  an  amused  resigned  air.  Going  back  into  the 


76  NARCISSUS 

dining  room,  she  brought  a  cake  and  presented  it 
as  though  she  were  feeding  a  hungry  puppy. 

May,  trying  to  be  grateful,  munched  the  cake  un- 
comfortably. She  pulled  feebly  at  the  hem  of  her 
skirt.  Her  grandmother  made  her  ashamed  of  her 
legs. 

Grandpapa  Farley  came  up  the  walk  and  halted 
in  the  back  doorway,  bareheaded  in  the  warm  sun- 
shine. He  was  in  his  shirt  sleeves.  Beads  of  per- 
spiration stood  on  his  high  blank  brow  which  might 
have  been  called  noble.  His  big  hands,  smeared  with 
the  earth  of  the  garden,  hung  in  a  helpless  manner 
at  his  sides.  He  smiled  uncomfortably  at  May. 
"Shall  we  send  your  step-mother  some  lettuce?" 

May  rose  and  walked  out  to  where  he  waited. 
His  expression  had  grown  suddenly  ruminant,  and, 
as  he  stared  away  from  her  over  the  back  fence, 
his  eyes  were  cloudy  and  unseeing.  "Well,  May,  I 
can't  say  she's  done  her  duty  by  your  grandmother, 
but  she's  a  fine  woman — fine  handsome  woman. 
Laurie  was  lucky  to  get  her.  She'll  be  able  to  do 
a  lot  for  him."  He  sighed  as  though  he  were  re- 
linquishing a  vision,  and,  glancing  once  more  at 
May,  became  kindly  aware  of  her  again. 

May  had  hoped  that  Aunt  Alice  would  not  come 


NARCISSUS  77 

downstairs,  but  there  she  was  behind  them.  Grand- 
papa Farley  was  uncomfortable  if  Alice  came  into 
a  room  when  outsiders  were  present.  He  saw  her 
now,  and,  with  a  guilty  smile,  told  May  he  would 
go  to  gather  his  little  present.  He  shambled  down 
the  walk.  The  sunshine  made  his  bald  head  lus- 
trous. There  was  a  glinting  fringe  of  white  hair  at 
its  base. 

"So  it's  you,  May,  is  it?  How  are  you?  Does 
Madame  Julia  think  you  are  safe  with  us  now?" 
There  was  queer  hostile  pleasure  in  Aunt  Alice's 
fat  face. 

May's  mouth  bent  with  its  usual  smiling  accept- 
ance, but  she  could  not  keep  the  solemn  arrested 
look  of  wonder  from  her  eyes.  People  said  Aunt 
Alice  was  odd.  There  was  nothing  so  strange  in 
what  Aunt  Alice  said.  It  was  more  in  something 
she  didn't  say  but  seemed  always  to  have  meant. 
"I'm  well."  May  squeezed  her  fingers  nervously 
together. 

Aunt  Alice  laid  her  hand  on  her  niece's  head  and 
tilted  it  back.  May  shivered  a  little  and  her  eyelids 
trembled  against  the  light.  "Suppose  you're  living 
the  larger  life?  Imbibing  the  fine  flavor  of  con- 
temporary culture,  are  you?" 


78  NARCISSUS 

May  giggled  evasively  and  wagged  her  head  un- 
der the  heavy  hand. 

"Your  step-mother  can't  stand  this  congenial  at- 
mosphere so  she  sends  you.  She's  strong  for  the 
true,  the  beautiful,  and  the  good.  Developing  your 
father's  character.  Teaching  him  to  flower,  is  she?" 

May  grew  bewildered  and  rather  sick.  When  she 
opened  her  eyes  she  caught  such  a  cruel  secret  ex- 
pression in  Aunt  Alice's  face.  Why  does  Aunt  Alice 
always  hate  me?  She  moved  her  head  from  Aunt 
Alice's  hand  and  gazed  at  the  burnt  grass  rocking  in 
the  sunshine.  She  tried  to  be  happy  and  amused. 

"Can't  look  at  her,  eh?"  Aunt  Alice  said  sud- 
denly. "Don't  wonder,  May.  Ugly  old  bitch.  Did 
you  ever  hear  of  the  power  and  the  glory  without 
end?" 

There  were  tears  trembling  on  May's  lashes.  She 
gave  Aunt  Alice  a  quick  stare  and  laughed. 

Aunt  Alice  was  examining  her  cautiously. 
"You're  something  of  a  milksop,  May.  Keep  on 
being  a  milksop.  The  Lord  loveth  a  cheerful  giver. 
But  your  legs  are  too  thin.  You'll  never  attain  to 
joy  without  end  with  those  legs." 

May  did  not  want  to  understand  what  this  meant. 


NARCISSUS  79 

Something  inside  her  was  trembling  and  lacerated. 
She  stared  directly  at  Aunt  Alice  now,  determined 
not  to  see  her  clearly.  She  could  not  bear  to  do  so. 

And  Aunt  Alice's  face  was  calm  and  kind,  re- 
signed and  humorous,  her  eyes  as  steady  as  May's. 
"Your  old  aunt  is  an  eccentric  creature,  May." 

"I  don't  think  so,"  May  said  with  confused  well- 
meaning. 

Grandpapa  Farley  was  calling  from  the  garden. 
May  was  glad  to  run  away  to  him. 

IT  was  a  long  way  home — almost  to  the  other  end 
of  town.  May  felt  the  distance  interminable. 

When  she  reached  the  house  she  rushed  upstairs 
to  Aunt  Julia's  room.  Aunt  Julia  was  sitting  there 
doing  nothing  at  all.  She  glanced  up  with  a  tired, 
distracted  air  as  May  came  in.  May  smiled  ecstati- 
cally, rushed  over  to  Aunt  Julia,  threw  her  arms 
about  her,  and  in  a  moment  was  weeping  with  her 
head  in  Aunt  Julia's  lap. 

Julia's  fingers  moved  through  May's  soft  hair  that 
was  so  thick  and  beautiful.  She  pitied  herself  that 
May  was  so  young.  May's  youth  seemed  loathsome 
and  repugnant  to  her.  Because  of  her  loathing,  she 


80  NARCISSUS 

made  her  voice  more  gentle.  "What's  the  matter, 
sweet?  Did  something  unpleasant  happen  at  your 
grandmother's  house?" 

"N-no,  nothing.  Only  I  wanted  to  get  away  from 
there.  I'm  so  glad  to  be  here!" 

Aunt  Julia's  fingers  moved  stiffly  through  May's 
hair.  Why  should  I  dislike  this  child!  Oh,  I'm 
dying  of  loneliness!  Julia  felt  that  she  could  love 
no  one  and  that  she  deserved  endless  commiseration 
for  her  lovelessness.  "Don't  cry,  darling!"  Aunt 
Julia's  voice  was  harsh.  "I  should  never  have  let 
you  go  there.  I  know  how  depressing  it  is.  Your 
Aunt  Alice  is  such  a  pathetic  person,  isn't  she?  I 
know.  I  know.  She  isn't  precisely  mad,  but  so 
dreadfully  unhappy.  Such  a  morbid,  isolated  life." 

"She  makes. me  so — so — I  don't  know!  Was  she 
always  like  that?  I  used  to  be  afraid  of  her  when 
I  was  small." 

"Perhaps  so.  I  don't  know,  dear.  Some  man 
she  was  in  love  with,  they  say.  We  won't  think 
about  her.  When  I  first  married  your  father  I 
tried  to  get  her  interested  in  some  of  the  things  I 
was  doing  at  the  time,  but  she  imagines  that  every 
one  dislikes  her.  Now  don't  cry  any  more,  May, 
child.  You  mustn't  let  your  poor  father  see  how 


NARCISSUS  81 

your  visit  has  upset  you.  He  never  wants  us  to  go 
there,  but  I  think  we  ought.  Old  Mr.  Farley  is  such 
a  kind  old  man  and  your  grandmother  was  so  good 
to  the  little  baby  that  died.  Your  father  has  often 
told  me  about  it.  He  is  grateful  to  her  for  it,  I'm 
sure,  though  she  never  understood  him  and  when 
he  was  there  with  you  children  he  was  very  miser- 
able. That's  one  reason  I  wanted  him  to  move  so 
far  away.  I  hate  for  him  to  have  that  atmosphere 
about  him.  It  makes  him  think  of  your  poor  little 
mother,  too.  You  know  she  was  only  a  girl  when 
she  died.  Not  much  more  of  a  woman  than  you 
are,  May.  I  don't  think  she  understood  your  father 
very  well  either,  but  he  loved  her  very  much.  It  was 
such  a  pity  she  died.  Seemed  so  useless."  Julia, 
was  pained  by  her  own  kind  words.  The  malice 
in  her  heart  hurt  her.  She  felt  that  if  people  were 
compassionate  they  could  find  the  apology  for  her 
emotion  which  she  was  not  able  to  discover. 

May  was  gazing  up  solemnly  with  tear  smudges 
on  her  face.  Aunt  Julia's  beautiful  long  hand 
pushed  the  damp  locks  away  from  the  girl's  high 
pearl-smooth  forehead.  "Oh,  Aunt  Julia,  I  love' 
you!  I  love  you!  I  love  you!" 

"I'm  glad,  dear."    Aunt  Julia  looked  consciously 


82  NARCISSUS 

sad  and  stared  at  the  carpet.  Her  fingers  continued 
their  half-mechanical  caress. 

Suddenly  May  sprang  to  her  feet,  clapped  her 
palms  together,  and  began  to  pirouette.  Then  she 
ran  to  Aunt  Julia  and  kissed  her  again.  "I'm  so 
happy!"  In  herself  she  was  still  recalling  Paul's 
kisses,  and  in  them  escaping  the  old  terror  that  had 
possessed  her  again  in  her  grandmother's  house. 

Julia,  convicted  of  her  own  brutality,  regarded 
May  pityingly. 

/T^HE  last  semester  was  over.  Paul,  carrying  his 
JL  books  under  his  arm,  slouched  out  of  the  High 
School  yard,  his  cap  pulled  over  his  face. 

Hell!  Those  kids!  What  if  he  had  flunked 
in  several  things!  He  had  just  left  a  group  who 
were  betting  on  next  year's  football  eleven.  Next 
year  by  mid-season  it  would  be  a  college  or  a  busi- 
ness school  for  him.  When  he  talked  to  those  boys 
he  tried  to  joke  as  they  did  about  life  and  "smut". 
He  was  only  really  interested  in  what  they  said 
when  they  talked  "smut".  Then  he  looked  at  them 
curiously  and  wanted  to  be  like  them. 

Like  them!  Good  Lord!  They  were  donkeys. 
Even  the  ones  who  sailed  beyond  him  in  their  classes. 


NARCISSUS  83 

He  wanted  them  to  know  what  he  was — that  his 
views  were  outrageous.  But  there  was  Felix,  a  short 
brown  little  monkey,  a  Russian  Jew  with  excited 
far-seeing  eyes,  who  enjoyed  debating.  He  said 
Paul's  vision  was  warped  by  his  personal  problem. 
Paul  tried  to  make  Felix  talk  about  women.  Felix 
blushed  slightly,  while  his  eyes,  bright  and  remote, 
remained  fixed  unwaveringly  on  Paul's  face.  Felix 
said  he  respected  women  as  the  mothers  of  the  race. 
He  thought  the  boys  at  school  had  cheap  ideas  about 
sexual  laxity.  That  he  never  was  so  utterly  strong 
and  possessed  of  himself  as  when  he  put  women 
out  of  his  mind.  Then  he  could  give  his  whole  soul 
to  humanity. 

Paul  blushed,  yet  sneered.  Felix!  Women! 
That  brat!  "Is  your  father  a  tailor  or  an  under- 
taker, Felix?"  Afterward  it  hurt  Paul  to  remember 
the  wrong  idea  of  himself  which  he  had  been  at 
such  pains  to  impart.  It  would  be  nice  to  belong 
somewhere! 

Away  from  the  deserted  schoolhouse,  Paul  strolled 
into  the  park.  Against  the  gleaming  afternoon  sky 
that  was  a  dim  milky  blue,  the  trees  were  shivering. 
He  watched  whirling  oak  leaves  that  looked  black 
on  the  high  branches.  Stretched  on  the  grass  tops, 


84  NARCISSUS 

silver  spider  threads  twitched  with  reflections.  The 
bright  grass,  bending,  seemed  to  rush  before  him 
like  a  blown  cloud.  Deep  blots  of  shadow  were 
on  the  lake,  where,  here  and  there,  taut  strands  of 
light  sparkled  and  broke  through  the  shaken  sur- 
face. 

May's  step-mother.  He  kept  trying  to  push  that 
woman  away,  crowding  up  to  him  with  her  sancti- 
monious face.  He  wanted  to  do  violence  to  some- 
thing. He  hated  himself. 

When  he  sat  down  on  the  grass  and  closed  his 
eyes  he  thought  again  of  going  away.  Already  he 
could  feel  himself  inwardly  small,  like  a  speck  in 
distance.  The  harshly  coruscated  sea  made  a  boil- 
ing sound  on  the  stern  of  the  ship.  Beyond  the  blue- 
black  strip  of  water  that  made  his  eyes  ache  there 
was  a  long  thin  beach  with  tiny  houses  on  it.  He 
could  hear  the  dry  rustle  of  leaves  and  cocoanut 
fronds.  There  was  rain  in  the  air  and  huge  masses 
of  plum-colored  cloud  made  a  strange  darkness  far 
off  over  the  aching  earth.  A  man  in  a  red  shirt 
ran  along  the  shore,  following,  waving  something. 
Then  all  in  a  moment  it  had  become  night  and  there 
was  nothing  but  the  hiss  of  the  sea  in  the  quietness. 
The  glow  from  a  lamp  made  a  yellow  stain  on  the 


NARCISSUS  85 

mist  and  showed  a  half -naked  sailor  asleep  on  his 
side  with  his  head  thrown  back. 

When  Paul  saw  things  like  this  he  was  never 
certain  where  the  vision  came  from.  He  wondered 
if  he  had  made  it  himself,  or  if  it  were  only  some- 
thing he  had  read  about.  The  sharpness  of  his 
dream  pleased  and  frightened  him. 

He  slung  his  books  to  one  side  and  buried  his 
face  in  his  hands.  He  was  miserably  conscious  of 
his  big  grotesque  body  which  he  wanted  to  forget. 
Saving  the  world.  Karl  Marx.  Men  that  go  down 
to  the  sea  in  ships.  Shipped  away  from  here. 
Shipped  as  a  sailor.  He  shook  himself  without  lift- 
ing his  face.  He  did  not  want  to  hate  May,  so 
he  hated  Aunt  Julia  instead. 

White  moon  blown  across  his  face.  It  was  there 
when  he  glanced  up.  It  floated  down  through  the 
park  trees.  Why  was  it  when  he  thought  of  May 
he  saw  beautiful  full  breasts  like  moons  in  flower! 
They  floated  before  him  like  lilies.  They  were  in 
him  like  the  vision  of  the  ship. 

A  brown  barefooted  girl  walked  toward  a  hilltop, 
a  water  jar  poised  on  her  head.  The  sky  into  which 
she  went  was  like  a  dove's  wing.  Sunset  already. 
And  the  girl  with  the  water  jar  kept  mounting  and 


86  NARCISSUS 

going  down,  down,  down  into  him,  into  darkness. 
He  could  hear  the  quiet  grass  parting  against  her 
feet.  He  could  hear  her  going  into  the  moon,  into 
darkness,  into  the  vacant  sky  beyond  the  trees. 

He  took  his  hands  away  from  his  face  and  gath- 
ered up  his  books. 

I  must  instinctively  feel  something  rotten  about 
that  step-mother  of  May's  or  I  wouldn't  have  this 
unreasoning  antagonism.  The  brown  girl  passed 
out  of  sight  on  the  imaginary  meadow.  He  stared 
at  an  overturned  park  bench,  and  at  the  lake  water 
that  made  a  stabbing  spot  of  emptiness  in  the  glow- 
ing twilight  among  the  trees. 

JULIA'S  depression  continued  during  the  evening 
meal  and  Laurence  noticed  her  silence.  In  the 
hallway,  as  they  went  up  to  her  sitting  room  after 
dinner,  he  surprised  her  by  slipping  his  arm  about 
her  shoulders. 

Julia  glanced  toward  him  swiftly.  Her  mouth 
was  strained.  She  smiled  and  lowered  her  lids. 

"Being  married  to  me  isn't  a  thrilling  experi- 
ence, Julia." 

Julia  tried  to  answer  him,  bit  her  lips,  and  said, 
"Dear!"  in  a  choked  voice. 


NARCISSUS  87 

He  held  her  against  him  uneasily  as  they  walked. 
Julia  wished  he  would  not  touch  her  as  if  he  were 
afraid. 

When  they  mounted  the  stairs  they  found  her 
room  dark.  Laurence  released  her  and  she  went 
ahead  of  him  to  find  the  light.  The  moon  made 
a  long  blue  shadow  that  lay  alive  on  the  floor.  The 
bright  windows  of  the  houses  opposite  seemed  to 
flicker  with  the  moving  branches  of  the  trees  that 
came  between.  The  night  air  of  the  city  flowed 
cold  into  the  room  and  had  a  dead  smell.  They 
heard  the  horn  of  a  motor  car  and  children  were 
laughing  in  the  street.  Julia  was  shivering,  fum- 
bling for  the  electric  lamp. 

Laurence,  though  he  barely  saw  the  outline  of 
her  figure,  was  suddenly  aware  of  something  con- 
fused and  ominous  in  her  delay.  "What's  the  mat- 
ter, Julia?  Do  you  need  my  help?"  His  tone  was 
very  casual  but  gentle.  He  startled  himself.  She's 
unhappy.  I  need  to  be  kind.  He  had  been  rest- 
less, feeling  something  between  them.  She  must 
come  to  me.  He  had  a  quick  sense  of  relief  and 
tenderness. 

The  light  rushed  out  and  bathed  the  indistinct 
walls.  The  carpet  was  bleached  with  it.  There 


88  NARCISSUS 

was  a  circle  of  radiance  low  about  the  desk  where 
the  lamp  stood.  Julia  had  not  answered.  Her 
shoulders,  turned  to  him,  resisted  him.  Her  head 
was  bent  forward,  away.  She  was  moving  some 
papers  under  a  book.  Her  bare  hand  and  arm  ap- 
peared startlingly  alive,  saffron-colored  in  the  glow, 
trembling  out  of  the  dim  blackness  of  her  sleeve. 
There  were  blanched  reflections  in  the  lighted  folds 
of  her  silk  skirt. 

Laurence  was  all  at  once  afraid,  as  if  he  had 
never  seen  her  before.  "Julia!"  He  moved  a  step 
toward  her. 

She  turned  to  him,  her  hands  behind  her,  palms 
downward  on  the  desk  against  which  she  braced 
herself.  Her  face  was  old.  Her  eyes,  staring  at 
him,  seemed  blind. 

Laurence  frowned  while  his  lips  twitched  in  a 
queer  smile.  He  tried  to  speak,  but  could  not. 
Without  knowing  why,  he  wanted  to  keep  her  from 
speaking. 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  "I  have  some- 
thing horrible  to  tell  you,  Laurence." 

Her  voice,  unexpectedly  calm,  disconcerted  him. 
Neither  had  she  intended  to  speak  like  that.  She 
wanted  her  emotions  to  release  her.  She  wanted  to 


NARCISSUS  89 

be  confused.  The  clearness  of  the  instant  terrified 
her. 

Laurence  could  not  ask  her  what  it  was.  Some- 
thing hurt  him  at  that  moment  more  than  she  could 
ever  hurt  him  afterward.  He  wanted  the  silence, 
unendurable  as  it  was,  to  go  on  forever. 

Silence. 

He  came  to  her  and  took  her  hands  from  her 
eyes.  It  was  hard  for  him  to  touch  her.  Her  lids 
closed.  She  turned  her  head  aside. 

"What's  the  matter,  Julia?  What's  happened? 
Have  I  done  anything  to  hurt  you?  Tell  me." 

He  seemed  to  her  so  far  away  that  she  felt  it 
useless  to  answer  him.  Everything  that  had  hap- 
pened was  deep  inside  her.  Neither  Laurence  nor 
Dudley  had  any  relation  to  it.  She  knew  herself 
too  deeply.  It  was  the  unknown  self  from  which 
gods  were  made.  There  was  nothing  to  turn  to. 
There  was  nothing  more  to  know.  She  watched 
Laurence  now  and  felt  a  foolish  smile  on  her  lips. 
Her  hard,  concentrated  gaze  noted  nothing  about 
him.  "I've  behaved  disgustingly,  Laurence." 

Laurence  watched  her.  He  let  his  hands  fall 
away.  He  wanted  never  to  know  what  she  was 
going  to  say.  His  eyes  were  on  the  soft  hair  against 


90  NARCISSUS 

her  cheek.  He  had  the  impulse  to  kiss  her  there. 
He  hated  her  already  for  the  pain  of  what  she  was 
taking  away  from  him.  Some  helpless  thing  in  him 
wanted  her  and  she  was  killing  it  cruelly  and  sense- 
lessly. It  was  monstrous  to  take  her  soft  hair  and 
her  cheek  away  from  him. 

"I've  deceived  you,  Laurence.  I've  been  carry- 
ing on  an  intrigue  without  telling  you."  Her  brows 
were  painfully  drawn  above  her  blind  hard  gaze. 
Her  smile  suggested  a  sneer  at  its  own  agony.  "I've 
had  a  lover." 

Laurence  flushed  slowly  and  regarded  her  with 
a  dim  stare  of  suffering  and  dislike.  He  could  not 
conquer  the  impression  that  her  manner  was  vic- 
torious. He  felt  that  he  must  ask  who  her  lover 
was.  He  thought  that  she  was  degrading  him  when 
she  made  him  ask  it.  "Yes?"  His  voice  sounded 
excited,  yet  calm,  almost  elated.  The  voice  came 
from  a  strange  mouth. 

"Dudley  Allen,"  Julia  said,  and  kept  the  same  un- 
happy, irrational  smile. 

"How  long  did  this  go  on  before  you  made  up 
your  mind  to  tell  me?  I  can  forgive  you  everything 
but  that,  Julia.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me?  You're 
a  free  agent.  I  have  nothing  to  say  about  your  ac- 


NARCISSUS  91 

tions,  but  I  don't  think  you  had  any  right  to  lie 
to  me,  Julia."  He  tried  to  keep  his  mind  on  the 
point  of  justice.  He  was  utterly  vanquished  and 
weak.  To  touch  her!  To  be  near  to  her!  He 
felt  her  putting  things  between  them  so  that  he  could 
never  touch  her.  His  mouth  was  sweet.  His  suf- 
fused eyes  had  an  expression  of  stupidity  and  an- 
guish. 

Julia,  observing  him,  all  at  once  relaxed,  and, 
with  a  bewildered  air,  began  to  weep,  hiding  her 
face  again.  He  envied  the  sobs  which  shook  her 
with  relief.  She  sank  into  a  chair. 

"Don't,  Julia.  You  mustn't  do  this,  Julia. 
Don't!"  He  came  up  to  her,  and,  with  an  effort, 
touched  her  drooped  head.  The  contact  was  grate- 
ful to  him.  Her  warm  shuddering  body  reassured 
him  against  the  dark  they  were  in.  They  were  both 
in  the  same  darkness.  He  wanted  to  know  her  in 
it  where  her  bright  empty  words  had  pierced  and 
gone. 

"How  can  you  bear  to  touch  me?"  Julia  said. 
She  demanded  nothing.  Helpless  and  waiting,  she 
was  clinging  to  him.  Her  legs  were  warm  and  weak 
and  tired.  She  was  glad  of  the  chair,  and  only  in 


92  NARCISSUS 

terror  that  Laurence  might  go.  "Don't  leave  me, 
Laurence!  Please  don't  leave  me!" 

"I  won't  leave  you,  Julia."  For  a  moment  he 
pitied  her,  but  suddenly  he  knew  how  much  outside 
her  he  was.  She  was  taking  no  account  of  him 
at  all.  He  needed  to  resist  her  as  if  she  were  some 
awful  weight.  He  was  so  tired.  She  was  crushing 
him.  He  wanted  to  live.  He  wanted  to  be  away 
from  her.  "I  want  to  go — not  far — out  somewhere. 
I  want  to  be  alone  for  a  while.  I  have  to  think 
things  out." 

"I  know,  Laurence!  You  can't  bear  me!  I've 
killed  what  you  had  for  me!" 

He  was  annoyed  by  her  unthinking  phrases,  and 
that  she  showed  no  knowledge  of  the  new  emotion 
which  pain  had  created  in  him.  It  was  hard  to 
leave  her  in  distress,  but  he  felt  that  he  must  go 
to  save  himself. 

He  left  the  room  quietly,  and  went  downstairs 
and  into  his  study.  The  house  was  still,  perhaps 
empty,  but  he  closed  the  door  after  him  and  locked 
it.  He  was  afraid  of  his  own  room  with  its  un- 
familiar walls. 

He  sat  down  awkwardly  in  the  darkness,  aware 
of  his  own  movements  as  of  the  gestures  of  some  one 


NARCISSUS  93 

else.  He  conceived  a  peculiar  disgust  for  the  short 
heavy  man  who  was  humped  soddenly  in  the  arm- 
chair. He  disliked  the  man's  clothes,  expensive 
ill-fitting  clothes  draping  a  massive  body.  Most  of 
all  he  hated  the  man's  small  delicate  hands,  ridic- 
ulous below  his  big  sleeves. 

Laurence,  out  of  his  own  fatigue,  had  abandoned 
the  moral  idea,  and  he  pleased  himself  now  with 
the  bitter  lenience  of  his  judgment.  He  had  known 
for  a  long  time  that  Julia  was  dissatisfied  and  had 
even  sensed  the  pathos  in  her  passing  enthusiasms 
with  their  glamour  of  profundity.  He  had  seen  her 
young  and  lovely,  futile  except  to  him,  and,  when 
he  had  pitied  her  passion  for  the  sublime,  it  had 
only  added  a  paternal  quality  to  his  feeling  for  her, 
so  that  he  loved  her  more  inwardly  and  quietly. 
His  unshaken  pessimism  regarding  life  had  made 
him  more  and  more  gentle  of  her  when  he  saw  that 
she  yet  clung  to  the  things  which,  for  him,  had 
failed.  He  perceived  now  that  his  very  disbelief 
had  been  the  symbol  of  a  too  complete  faith  which 
she  had  made  grotesque.  If  he  had  been  able  to 
condemn  her,  the  moral  justification  would  have 
afforded  him  an  emotional  outlet.  He  was  helpless 
with  a  hurt  that  was  his  alone. 


94  NARCISSUS 

Who  was  he,  he  said  ironically  to  himself,  that 
he  should  refuse  the  lie  with  which  humanity  sustains 
itself. 

DUDLEY  wrote  Julia  that  he  was  grieved  that 
she  excluded  him  from  her  confidence.  He 
was  suffering  deeply  and  he  wanted  to  be  a  friend 
to  both  her  and  Laurence.  He  had  not  anticipated 
anything  like  her  silence. 

When  his  vanity  was  wounded  he  made  a  fetish 
of  his  isolation.  He  told  himself  that  he  had  no 
place  in  the  superficiality  of  modern  life.  He  took  a 
train  away  from  the  city  and  walked  along  the  beach 
under  the  hot  gray  sky  beneath  clouds  like  glaring 
water.  He  wanted  to  avoid  his  artist  friends.  He 
wished  to  imagine  that  they  could  never  under- 
stand him.  He  was  acute  in  his  perception  of  their 
weaknesses  and  was  always  defending  himself  in- 
wardly against  discovering  their  defects  in  himself. 

He  tired  himself  out  and,  taking  off  his  coat,  sat 
down  on  some  driftwood  to  rest.  His  black  hair 
clung  in  sweated  curls  to  his  flushed  forehead.  The 
pine  boughs  above  him  rocked  secretly  against  the 
glowing  blindness  of  the  clouds.  The  bunches  of 
needles,  lustrous  on  the  tips  of  the  branches,  were 


NARCISSUS  95 

like  black  stars.  The  sea  was  a  moving  hill  going 
up  against  the  horizon.  It  made  a  slow  heavy  sound. 
The  small  waves  sidled  along  the  shore,  opened  their 
fluted  edges  a  little,  fan-wise,  then  flattened  them- 
selves and  sank  away  with  lisping  noises. 

Dudley  was  more  and  more  depressed  by  the  con- 
stant terrible  fear  of  having  made  himself  ludi- 
crous. He  said  to  himself  that  neither  Julia  nor 
her  husband  would  understand  him,  and  he  must 
suffer  the  miscomprehension  of  his  motives  which 
would  inevitably  result  from  their  lesser  experience. 
The  most  disconcerting  thing  was  the  sudden  retro- 
spective vividness  of  his  physical  intimacy  with 
Julia.  She  seemed  to  have  become  a  part  of  all 
the  abhorrent  elements  that  were  commonplace  in 
his  past,  elements  against  which  his  romantic  con- 
ception of  his  destiny  led  him  to  rebel. 

His  full  lips  pouted  despairingly  beneath  his  neat 
mustache  shining  in  the  glare,  and  there  was  an 
aggrieved  expression  in  his  small  sparkling  eyes. 
His  plump,  pretty  body  made  him  unhappy.  He 
tried  to  exclude  it.  It  was  terrible  for  him  to  realize 
ugliness  or  physical  deficiency  of  any  sort.  He 
never  associated  this  with  his  weak  childhood  and 
the  semi-invalidism  which  he  but  vaguely  remem- 


96  NARCISSUS 

bered.  He  had  begun  so  early  to  detach  his  ex- 
periences from  those  of  other  beings,  that  it  never 
occurred  to  him.  Yet  if  he  came  in  contact  with 
disease  in  another  creature  it  left  him  mentally  ill. 
He  never  made  any  attempt  to  analyze  the  violence 
of  his  reaction  against  the  sight  of  sickness.  At 
any  rate,  his  theory  was  of  a  Golden  Age  and  a 
primitive  man  who  had  fallen  through  admitting 
weakness  into  his  psychical  life. 

Dudley  did  not  explain  the  fact  to  himself,  but 
he  knew  that  his  dignity  survived  only  in  his  capac- 
ity for  pain  of  the  spirit.  When  he  was  in  agony 
of  mind  he  never  really  doubted  that  his  condition 
was  a  superior  one,  the  travail  in  which  the  great 
soul  gave  birth  to  its  perfection.  At  twenty-seven 
his  hair  was  turning  gray  and  there  were  lines  of 
exhaustion  and  disillusionment  about  his  eyes  and' 
mouth.  He  demanded  so  much  of  himself  that  it 
allowed  him  no  spiritual  quiet. 

To  avoid  recognizing  the  platitudinous  details  of 
his  love  affairs  he  submitted  himself  to  mystical  tor- 
tures. He  wanted  to  leave  each  incident  of  his  ex- 
istence finished  and  perfect  as  he  passed  through 
it.  As  much  as  he  craved  admiration,  he  needed 
gentleness,  but  he  could  not  ask  for  it. 


NARCISSUS  97 

He  remained  on  the  beach  until  nightfall.  He 
could  not  discover  in  himself  enough  grief  to  re- 
lease him  from  the  cold  misery  and  absurdity  of 
everyday  human  affairs. 

BETWEEN  Julia  and  Laurence,  the  reflex  of 
their  emotional  fatigue  expressed  itself  in  a 
mutual  inertia.  Except  that  Laurence  showed  his 
desire  to  be  alone  by  moving  his  bed  into  a  small 
isolated  room  at  the  back  of  the  house,  nothing  in 
the  order  of  existence  was  changed. 

Before  the  children,  Julia  spoke  to  him  gently, 
almost  pathetically,  and  only  now  and  then  dared 
look  at  his  face.  He  tried  to  avoid  her  guilty  and 
demanding  gaze.  If  she  caught  his  eyes  he  would 
glance  quickly  and  defensively  away  with  a  con- 
traction of  his  features  that  he  could  not  control. 

School  was  over.  "You  and  the  children  might 
go  for  a  month  on  the  beach,"  Laurence  said. 

And  Julia  said,  "Yes."  But  she  did  not  make 
any  definite  plans.  She  was  waiting  for  something 
which  she  had  never  named  to  herself. 

When  she  was  away  from  him  in  her  room  she 
went  over  and  over  the  succession  of  events,  and 
wondered  if  she  should  leave  the  house  to  go  out 


98  NARCISSUS 

and  earn  her  living,  since  she  had  betrayed  Laur- 
ence's confidence  and  no  longer  deserved  anything 
at  his  hands.  She  sustained  the  ideas  of  conscience 
to  the  point  of  applying  for  employment  with  the 
City  Board  of  Health,  and,  some  weeks  after,  a 
position  was  given  her.  But  it  seemed  an  irrelevant 
incident  which  resolved  nothing. 

If  Laurence  had  imposed  difficulties  on  her  she 
would  have  justified  herself  in  facing  them.  What 
seemed  most  horrible  now  was  that  everything  was 
in  suspense,  and  she  was  cheated  of  the  emotional 
cleansing  which  relieved  her  in  a  crisis  even  where 
there  were  ominous  consequences  to  follow. 

Laurence  made  a  constant  effort  to  escape  the 
atmosphere  of  anticipation  which  her  manner  cre- 
ated. When  he  was  not  with  her  he  fancied  he  saw 
everything  clearly.  She  had  always  been  searching 
for  something  apart  from  him  and  she  had  found 
it.  He  decided  that  it  was  the  clearness  and  finality 
of  his  vision  of  her  and  of  himself  that  left  him  un- 
able to  create  a  future.  Laurence  thought,  in  lan- 
guage different  from  Julia's,  that  a  man  comes  to 
the  end  of  his  life  when  he  knows  himself  entirely. 
Emotion  can  only  build  on  the  vagueness  of  ex- 
pectation. His  complete  awareness  of  the  causes 


NARCISSUS  99 

of  his  state  allowed  him  no  resentments.  He  im- 
agined that  he  could  no  longer  feel  anything  toward 
Julia.  He  was  conscious  of  the  broken  thing  in 
himself.  He  could  not  feel  himself  going  on. 
There  was  nothing  but  annihilating  space  around 
him.  He  reflected  that  Julia  could  intoxicate  her- 
self with  death,  and  that  he  had  no  such  autoerotic 
sense. 

ONE  evening,  after  an  early  dinner,  May  and 
Bobby  ran  out,  bent  on  their  own  affairs,  and 
left  Julia  and  Laurence  in  the  dining  room  alone. 
Without  looking  at  Julia,  Laurence  rose.  She  rec- 
ognized, beneath  his  quiet  manner,  the  furtive  haste 
with  which  she  had  become  so  painfully  familiar. 

She  touched  his  coat.  "Laurence?"  She  picked 
up  some  embroidery  which  lay  on  a  chair  near  the 
table  and  began  to  thrust  the  needle,  which  had 
lain  on  it,  in  and  out  of  the  coarse-woven  brown 
cloth.  She  stared  down  at  her  trembling  fingers — 
at  the  long  third  finger  where  the  thimble  should  be. 

Laurence  waited  without  speaking.  When  she 
touched  him  like  that  he  could  scarcely  bear  it. 
Her  long  hands  and  her  aching,  drooping  shoulders 
were  a  part  of  him.  Even  the  sound  of  her  voice 


ioo  NARCISSUS 

was  something  that  she  dragged  out  of  him  that 
he  found  it  hard  to  endure.  He  kept  his  head  bent 
away  from  her.  His  mouth  contorted.  Frowning, 
he  passed  his  fingers  slowly  across  his  face  and  cov- 
ered his  lips. 

"Dudley  Allen  and  I  have  separated.  Everything 
between  us  seems  to  have  been  a  mistake.  I  didn't 
know  whether  I  had  made  you  understand  that." 
Her  voice  was  weak,  almost  whispering.  As  she 
watched  her  needle  she  pricked  herself  and  a  drop 
of  blood  welled,  slowly  crimson,  from  the  hand  that 
held  the  cloth.  She  went  on  pushing  the  needle 
jerkily  through  some  yellow  cotton  flowers.  The  late 
sunshine  was  pale  in  the  room.  Nellie  was  singing 
in  the  kitchen. 

Laurence  saw  the  blood  spread  on  the  embroid- 
ery and  make  a  stain.  He  was  all  at  once  insanely 
amused.  What  she  was  saying  seemed  an  absurd 
revelation  of  their  distance  from  each  other.  She 
never  considered  him  as  distinct  from  herself.  He 
found  it  ludicrous. 

His  finger  tips  moved  along  the  edge  of  the  table. 
He  picked  up  a  dish  and  set  it  down.  In  his  heart 
he  knew  that  Dudley  was  her  only  lover,  but  he 
was  jealous  of  his  right  to  suspect  that  it  was 


NARCISSUS  ioa 

otherwise.  It  made  him  cruel  toward  her  when  he 
realized  how  seldom  it  occurred  to  her  that  he  might 
disbelieve  what  she  said.  "That  is  your  affair — 
between  you  and  him,  Julia.  I'm  not  interested 
in  it." 

She  watched  him  helplessly.  "Laurence,  why 
is  it  always  like  this?" 

He  saw  her  hands  shaking.  He  wanted  them  to 
shake.  All  grew  dim  before  his  eyes.  He  turned 
quickly  from  her  and  walked  out  of  the  room.  He 
could  not  hurt  her.  It  was  terrible  not  to  be  able 
to  hurt  her.  He  fancied  that  he  hated  her  more 
because  he  was  so  unable  to  revenge  himself  for 
her  manner  of  ignoring  him. 

He  went  on  through  the  hall  into  the  street.  He 
knew  that  Julia  was  robbing  him  of  the  detachment 
in  which  he  had  taken  refuge  from  earlier  suffer- 
ing. He  no  longer  possessed  himself.  Not  even  his 
own  pain  belonged  to  him. 

He's  cast  her  off  so  she  comes  to  me.  He  did 
not  think  so,  but  he  wanted  to  indulge  himself  in 
this  belief.  He  had  hitherto  controlled  a  loathing 
for  Dudley  which  was  unreasoning.  Now  he  re- 
sented Dudley  for  Julia's  sake  and  could  despise 
her  through  this  very  resentment. 


:o2  NARCISSUS 

Julia's  isolation  was  pathetic,  yet  Laurence  had 
only  to  recall  the  physical  nature  of  his  emotion 
when  they  were  together  to  know  that  he  could 
not  express  his  pity  for  her.  He  tried  to  force 
all  intimate  sense  of  her  out  of  his  mind.  When 
he  actually  considered  himself  rid  of  her  he  was 
conscious  of  being  bright  and  blank  like  a  mirror 
from  which  the  reflections  are  withdrawn,  and  there 
was  a  crazy  stirring  of  laughter  through  the  empti- 
ness in  him. 

He  passed  along  the  neat  sidewalks,  his  head 
bowed.  His  air  of  abstraction  was  ostentatious. 
He  wanted  to  enjoy  uninterruptedly  the  relaxation 
of  self-loathing.  There  were  deep,  violet-red  shad- 
ows on  the  newly-washed  asphalt  street.  The  tree- 
tops  were  still  and  glistening  against  the  line  of 
faintly  gilded  roofs.  The  grass  blades  on  the  or- 
dered lawns  were  green  glass  along  which  the  quiet 
light  trickled.  Well-dressed  children  played  under 
the  eyes  of  nurse  maids.  A  limousine  was  drawn 
up  in  the  shrubbery  that  surrounded  a  Georgian 
portico.  Laurence  decided  that  he  was  relieved  by 
the  failure  which  separated  him  from  the  preten- 
sions of  success. 

He  recalled  the  unhappiness  of  his  first  marriage, 


NARCISSUS  103 

and  the  depression  he  had  experienced  with  his 
baby's  death.  It  pleased  him  that  he  seemed 
doomed  to  fail  in  every  relationship. 

Alice  and  I  are  strangely  alike  after  all.  He  took 
a  grandiose  satisfaction  in  the  delayed  admittance 
that  he  and  Alice  were  alike.  Wondering  if  Julia 
would  ultimately  leave  him,  he  told  himself  that 
he  was  the  one  who  ought  to  go  away  to  save 
Bobby  from  the  contamination  of  such  bitterness. 

Of  May  he  somehow  did  not  wish  to  think. 

WHEN  Dudley  communicated  with  Julia  over 
the  telephone  her  manner  was  strained  and 
resentful,  and  when  he  wrote  her  notes  she  replied 
to  him  with  a  reserve  that  showed  her  antagonism. 
His  curiosity  concerning  her  and  Laurence  was  be- 
coming painful.  He  guessed  that  she  was  in  spiritual 
turmoil  and  he  could  not  bear  to  be  excluded  from 
the  consequences  of  a  situation  which  he  himself 
had  brought  about.  If  he  could  imagine  himself 
dictating  the  course  of  her  life,  and  of  her  hus- 
band's, it  would  not  be  so  hard  to  forego  that 
physical  pleasure  in  her  which  had  made  him  re- 
sentful of  her,  as  of  all  other  women.  At  the  same 
time  he  fought  off  relinquishing  any  of  himself  to 


J04  NARCISSUS 

her  necessities.  She  needed  to  grow.  She  did  not 
belong  in  her  bourgeois  environment  but  she  must 
escape  it  alone.  He  told  himself  that  later  she 
would  thank  him  that  he  had  been  strong  for  both 
of  them. 

Dudley  was  utterly  miserable  in  his  exclusion. 
He  needed  to  appear  noble  in  his  own  eyes,  and 
to  assert  his  superiority  with  all  those  with  whom 
he  came  in  contact.  And  this  in  a  world  which  he 
knew  had  become  too  sophisticated  to  believe  any 
longer  in  the  sincerity  of  the  noble  gesture.  In 
a  letter  to  Julia  he  said,  "Spiritually,  I  too  am  not 
well.  My  life  is  not  yet  right.  I  can  no  longer 
avoid  the  conviction  that  I  should  live  alone.  I 
am  meant  to  have  friends,  but  not  to  live  with  any 
of  them.  And  against  this  hold  the  numberless  ways 
in  which  my  life  is  linked  with  the  lives  of  others. 
I  am  in  conflict  and  here  goes  much  of  the  energy 
which  should  pour  into  my  projected  and  incom- 
pleted  works. 

"I  find  that  in  several  countries  of  Europe  there 
are  conscious  groups  of  men  who  feel  that  I  am 
doing  an  important  work,  and  that  there  is  sig- 
nificance in  my  life  and  thought.  Is  that  not 


NARCISSUS  105 

strange?  Is  it  so,  or  is  it  a  freak  of  the  pathos  of 
distance? 

"If  I  could  only  resolve  this  endless  conflict 
within  myself!  This  rending  and  spilling  of  myself 
in  the  battle  of  my  wills  to  be  alone  and  to  live 
as  others  do:  to  be  out  of  the  world,  and  to  be 
normally  in  it!  It  is  a  classic  conflict,  but  no  less 
mortal  for  that." 

After  he  had  sent  the  letter  he  was  uncomfortable 
because  he  had  written  only  of  himself,  but  he  dared 
not  consider  Julia's  attitude.  She  must  accept  his 
own  definition  of  himself  and  his  acts. 

DUDLEY  was  ashamed  of  the  strength  of  his 
interest  in  the  Parleys.  When  he  was  most 
in  love  with  Julia  he  did  not  admit  to  his  friends 
that  she  had  any  part  in  his  life.  Now  he  was  de- 
termined to  initiate  her  and  Laurence  into  his  en- 
vironment. As  a  protest  against  their  misunder- 
standing, he  must  force  them  to  live  through  his 
experiences.  Dudley  even  decided  that  when  Julia 
became  a  part  of  his  world  it  would  do  no  harm 
if  it  became  known  that  she  had  been  his  mistress. 
Before  he  let  her  go  he  wished  the  world  to  see 


106  NARCISSUS 

her  with  some  ineradicable  mark  of  himself  upon 
her.  She  must  accept  his  permanent  significance 
in  her  life  without  wanting  to  be  paid  for  it  by  some 
symbol  of  sexual  possession.  He  insisted  on  a  meet- 
ing with  her.  They  saw  each  other  again  in  the 
park. 

The  park  on  this  damp  day  looked  vast  and  aban- 
doned. The  tall  buildings,  visible  beyond  the  trees, 
were  far  off,  strange  with  mist,  as  if  in  another 
world.  A  few  drops  of  rain  fell  occasionally  on  the 
heavy  surface  of  the  lake  and  the  water  flickered 
like  gray  light.  The  grass  and  the  bushes  around 
were  vividly  still. 

Dudley  walked  about  nervously  waiting  for  Julia 
to  come.  He  would  admit  no  fault  in  his  view  of 
her  and  he  could  not  explain  his  uneasiness.  At 
a  recent  exhibition  his  pictures  had  been  unfavor- 
ably criticized.  He  decided  that  he  had  not  yet 
accepted  the  inevitableness  of  a  life  of  isolation. 

When  he  saw  Julia  coming  along  the  path  his 
eyes  filled  with  tears.  It  was  cruel  that  a  woman 
to  whom  he  had  opened  his  heart  had  closed  her- 
self against  him  in  enmity.  He  loved  her  as  he 
loved  everything  which  had  been  a  part  of  himself. 
She  was  yet  a  part  of  him,  though  she  refused  to 


NARCISSUS  107 

understand  it.  She  wounded  him  unmercifully. 
When  she  halted  before  him  and  looked  at  him 
he  tried  to  forgive  her.  He  fought  back  too  much 
consciousness  of  his  small  undignified  body.  "Julia! 
Aren't  you  glad  to  see  me?" 

She  allowed  him  to  press  her  hand.  They  went 
on  together,  side  by  side.  Dudley  was  afraid  of 
her  cold  face.  It  made  him  the  more  determined 
to  be  generous  to  her  and  rise  above  what  she  was 
feeling.  Psychically  he  wanted  to  touch  her  with 
himself.  There  was  a  kind  of  pagan  chastity  in  her 
reserved  suffering.  Such  a  thing  he  had  never  been 
able  to  achieve  and  he  could  not  bear  it  in  others. 
"How  does  your  husband  feel  about  what  you  have 
told  him,  Julia?"  His  voice  shook. 

Julia  said,  "I  think  he's  too  big  for  both  of  us. 
He  understands  things  that  neither  of  us  know." 

Dudley  would  not  allow  himself  to  be  jealous. 
He  knew  that  he  must  embrace  Laurence's  experi- 
ence in  order  to  rise  above  it.  "If  he  had  the  nar- 
row outlook  of  the  average  man  of  his  class  he 
would  condemn  us  both.  Does  he  condemn  me?" 

"I'm  sure  he  condemns  neither  of  us  in  the  sense 
you  mean." 

"I  want  to  see  him  and  talk  to  him,"  Dudley  said. 


io8  NARCISSUS 

"I  want  to  be  the  friend  of  both  of  you,  Julia,  in 
a  deep  true  sense.  Will  he  meet  me?  Will  he  talk 
to  me?" 

With  a  curious  shock  of  astonishment  Julia  found 
herself  ignored  again.  "I  don't  know.  Yes,  I  think 
he'll  talk  to  you."  Her  white  throat  strained  so  that 
it  was  corded  with  tension.  She  bit  her  lips. 

Dudley  observed  this  and  became  elated.  He 
told  himself  that  sympathy  drew  him  to  her,  and 
he  wanted  to  kiss  her.  But  he  withheld  the  kiss. 
He  could  not  accept  the  burden  of  Julia's  deficien- 
cies. If  he  made  a  friend  of  Laurence  Farley  it 
would  frustrate  her  in  her  undeveloped  impulses. 
Dudley  tried  to  admire  himself  for  being  strong 
enough  to  resist  her  for  the  sake  of  something  she 
did  not  comprehend  and  might  never  appreciate. 

He  placed  his  hand  on  her  arm.  "Julia,  how 
do  you  feel — now — about  him — about  you  and  me?" 
When  she  met  his  eyes,  she  noted  in  them  the  old 
expression  of  impersonal  intimacy  which  ignored 
all  of  her  but  what  he  wanted  for  himself.  He 
could  endure  everything  but  her  reserve.  He  knew 
that  she  despised  him  for  not  allowing  her  to  suffer 
alone.  He  had  to  risk  that.  It  was  preferable  to 
being  excluded  from  a  life  which  had  belonged  to 


NARCISSUS  109 

him  entirely.  He  could  not  bear  to  return  the  pri- 
vacy of  emotion  to  any  one  who  had  appeared  to 
him  in  spiritual  nakedness. 

Julia  shivered  under  his  touch.  "Why  do  you 
oblige  me  to  go  through  the  humiliation  of  telling 
you  things  about  myself  that  you  already  see?" 

"You  do  love  me  a  little;  Julia?" 

Julia  would  not  look  at  him.  "You  know  I  love 
you." 

He  was  disconcerted  for  the  moment,  resenting 
the  mysterious  implication  of  obligation  which  he 
always  found  in  such  words.  "Sister.  Julia.  In 
the  environment  where  I  met  you,  I  never  expected 
to  meet  a  woman  who  had  your  deep  reality.  We 
must  all  go  through  terrible  things  to  come  to  a 
true  understanding  of  ourselves  in  the  universe.  I 
have  been  through  just  what  you  are  passing  through 
now,  Julia.  Let  me  be  your  friend  and  your  hus- 
band's friend  as  no  one  else  has  ever  been?" 

Julia  clasped  her  hands  and  pressed  the  palms 
together.  "Of  course  you  are  my  friend."  She  won- 
dered if  her  feeling  of  amusement  were  insane. 

Dudley  was  unhappy  with  himself  but  her  visible 
misery  stimulated  him  in  a  way  he  dared  not  ex- 
plain. 


i  io  NARCISSUS 

/TT^HE  windows  of  Dudley's  studio  were  open 
JL  against  the  hot  purplish  night.  Large,  fixed 
stars  shuddered  above  the  factory  roofs  and  the 
confusion  of  tenements.  The  still  room  seemed 
a  vortex  for  the  distant  noises  of  the  street.  A  fire 
gong  clanged  alarmingly.  Some  one  whistled. 
Somewhere  feet  were  shuffling  and  the  rhythm  of 
a  bass  viol  marked  jazz  time  with  the  savage  monot- 
ony of  a  tom-tom's  beat.  There  was  a  sinister  har- 
mony in  the  discordant  blending  of  sound. 

Dudley,  when  he  opened  his  door  to  Laurence, 
was  relieved  by  a  sudden  sense  of  intimate  affection 
for  the  man  before  him. 

Laurence  said,  "I  lost  my  way.  Have  I  dis- 
turbed you  by  coming  so  late?"  He  held  out  his 
hand  with  a  slight  air  of  reluctance. 

Dudley  was  pained  and  rebuffed  by  the  pleasant 
casual  manner  of  his  guest.  He  would  have  held 
Laurence's  hand  but  that  Laurence  withdrew  it. 
"I  had  nothing  to  do  but  wait  for  you,"  Dudley 
said.  He  took  Laurence's  hat  and  stick  and  drew 
forward  a  chair. 

Laurence  seated  himself  with  strained  ease,  and 
scrutinized  a  half-finished  picture  that  leaned  on 
the  mantel  shelf  opposite.  "I've  been  reading  some 


NARCISSUS  in 

references  to  your  work  lately."  As  he  glanced 
away  from  the  study,  his  mouth  twitched  slightly 
and  his  hard  smiling  eyes  were  full  of  an  instinctive 
defiance. 

Dudley's  inquisitive  imagination  was  fired  by  the 
recognition  of  the  secret  voluptuous  relationship 
between  them.  He  held  Laurence's  gaze  with  a  pas- 
sionate expression  of  understanding  which  to  Laur- 
ence was  peculiarly  offensive  and  disturbing.  "In- 
spired idiocy,"  Dudley  said.  "I  hope  you  won't 
judge  me  by  the  banal  standards  which  govern  my 
other  critics."  His  light  tone,  as  usual,  was  awk- 
wardly assumed. 

"My  unfailing  refuge."  Laurence  reached  in  his 
pocket  and  took  out  his  pipe.  Dudley  observed  the 
tension  of  Laurence's  hands  that  were  too  steady. 

A  pause. 

Laurence  said,  "Well — your  pictures  are  interest- 
ing. I  like  them.  I  won't  subject  you  to  my  bro- 
midic  attempts  at  analysis.  My  appreciation  of  art 
is  limited  by  my  training.  I'm  too  factual  in  my 
approach  to  follow  the  ebullitions  of  the  modern 
consciousness."  He  glanced  about  the  room  again. 

Dudley  was  disappointed  in  him,  and  unhappy 
in  the  way  a  child  may  be.  It  wounded  him,  that 


ii2  NARCISSUS 

Laurence,  like  Julia,  persisted  in  excluding  him  by 
means  of  a  false  pride.  "It  is  a  great  deal  to  me 
that  you  are  ready  to  be  my  friend.  Julia  told 
me."  Dudley's  eyes  were  oppressively  gentle. 

Laurence  did  not  reply  at  once.  He  looked  about 
the  room.  His  glance  was  bright  with  uneasiness. 
He  pressed  tobacco  into  the  bowl  of  his  pipe.  His 
knuckles  were  white.  This  visit  was  an  ordeal  which 
the  bitterness  of  his  pride  had  forced  him  to  accept. 
He  wondered  what  he  must  do  to  prevent  talk  of 
Julia  which  he  could  not  endure. 

"It  seems  to  me  it  would  have  been  very  absurd 
if  I  had  refused  to  be  your  friend."  He  made  his 
gaze  steady  as  he  turned  to  watch  Dudley. 

Dudley's  negligee  shirt  was  open  over  his  chest 
which  was  beaded  with  sweat.  His  face  was  flushed 
and  his  hair  clung  darkly  to  his  moist  temples.  His 
lips  pouted  slightly  beneath  his  small  glistening 
mustache.  The  expression  of  his  eyes  suggested  a 
domineering  desire  for  openness.  He  felt  that  al- 
ready through  Julia's  body  he  knew  Laurence's  life. 
The  same  virginal  pagan  quality  of  pride  that  had 
to  be  overcome  in  Julia  was  in  Laurence  too.  Dud- 
ley wanted  to  perpetrate  an  outrage  of  compassion 
upon  it.  "I  realized  before  Julia  told  me  that  there 


NARCISSUS  113 

was  a  side  to  you  altogether  different  from  the  one 
you  show  to  the  world." 

Without  knowing  how  to  put  an  end  to  his  humili- 
ation, Laurence  said,  "I  suppose  there  is  in  all  of 
us.  You  artists  have  a  peculiar  advantage  in  being 
able  to  express  yourselves."  He  put  a  light  to  his 
pipe,  blew  the  smoke  out,  and  stared  at  the  ceiling. 
Whenever  Dudley  mentioned  Julia's  name  Laurence 
wanted  to  repudiate  the  significance  which  it  held 
in  common  for  Dudley  and  himself.  Rather  than 
be  included  here,  he  preferred  to  think  of  Dudley 
and  Julia  together  and  himself  as  separate. 

Dudley  was  wrapt  in  the  conviction  of  a  dark, 
almost  fleshly,  knowledge  of  Laurence,  and  his  de- 
termination to  love  was  as  ruthless  as  any  hatred. 
He  never  had  the  intimate  experience  of  a  person- 
ality without  wanting,  in  a  sense,  to  defile  it  by 
drawing  it  utterly  to  himself.  He  smiled  apologeti- 
cally. "We  should  never  refuse  any  experience." 

Laurence  felt  as  if  he  were  a  woman  whose  body 
was  being  taken.  He  sucked  at  his  dry  pipe  which 
was  extinguished.  "Perhaps  it  is  my  limitation 
which  makes  it  impossible  for  me  to  receive  every- 
thing so  unquestioningly." 

"But  you  do  accept  things." 


ii4  NARCISSUS 

"Not  emotionally.  Not  in  the  way  you  mean." 
Dudley  realized  that  Julia  had  gone  from  him. 
His  sense  of  loss  was  not  merely  in  the  loss  of  physi- 
cal domination.  Laurence  was  as  precious  as  Julia 
had  been.  What  was  needed  was  a  spiritual  pos- 
session. Dudley's  method  of  self-enlargement  was 
through  the  absorption  of  others,  but  he  had  a  the- 
ory of  equality.  His  tyrannous  impulses  rarely  per- 
sisted when  equality  was  disproven.  Without  ad- 
mitting it  himself,  he  wanted  to  reduce  his  peers 
through  his  understanding  of  them.  Then,  too,  on 
this  occasion,  his  superior  comprehension  of  Laur- 
ence might  be  proof  to  himself  of  Julia's  inadequacy. 
Laurence  felt  nothing  but  blind  proud  protest 
against  invasion,  and,  when  Dudley  attempted  to 
discuss  their  mutual  interests,  was  furtive  and  adroit 
in  defense. 

MAY  told  Paul  that  she  believed  Aunt  Julia 
was  unhappy.  He  had  to  confess  to  himself 
that  he  disapproved  of  Aunt  Julia  too  much  to  keep 
away  from  her.  He  wanted  to  go  to  the  house 
where  she  was.  But  he  had  forgotten  her  work  with 
the  Board  of  Health,  and  arrived  on  an  afternoon 
when  she  was  not  at  home. 


NARCISSUS  115 

May  took  him  to  Aunt  Julia's  sitting  room.  He 
loathed  the  place.  He  disliked  May  when  he  saw 
her  in  it.  And  when  he  disliked  May  it  made  him 
despair.  He  thought  that  he  had  never  in  his  life 
been  so  depressed. 

"Aunt  Julia's  things  are  so  lovely  I'm  always 
afraid  of  spoiling  them."  May  sat  down  on  the 
couch  among  the  batik  pillows  and  made  a  place 
for  him  beside  her.  Her  face  was  blanched  by  the 
bright  colors.  Her  short  skirts  drew  up  and  showed 
her  thin  legs  above  her  untidy  shoes. 

Paul  seated  himself  at  the  other  end  and  rested 
his  head  uncomfortably  against  the  wall.  "I  sup- 
pose your  Aunt  Julia  calls  all  these  gew-gaws  art." 
Whenever  he  tried  to  be  superior  some  external 
force  of  evil  seemed  to  frustrate  his  effort. 

"Now,  Paul,  they're  lovely!" 

"I  wonder  how  Aunt  Julia  relates  this  fol-de-rol 
to  her  soulful  interest  in  the  working  class." 

"But  some  of  it's  only  tie  dye,  Paul.  She  did 
it  herself  out  of  an  old  dress." 

Paul  was  baffled,  but  he  preserved  the  sneer  on 
his  lips.  Humming  under  his  breath,  he  tilted  his 
head  back  and  stared  at  the  ceiling. 

"I  hope  you've  decided  not  to  go  'way,  Paul,  like 


n6  NARCISSUS 

you  told  me  last  time.  If  you  go  away  without  tell- 
ing them — your  uncle  and  aunt — you're  only  eight- 
een— it  will  hurt  them  so."  She  could  not  look  at 
him,  for  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

Paul  knew  that  she  was  suffering.  Silly  little 
thing!  He  went  on  humming,  but  interrupted  him- 
self to  say,  "Nothing  but  their  vanity  has  ever  been 
hurt  by  anything  IVe  done.  They  want  me  to  go 
on  and  study  medicine — or  law.  What  for?  I  don't 
care  what  becomes  of  me." 

May  bit  her  lips  and  twisted  her  fingers  together. 
When  Paul  talked  recklessly  she  knew  that  it  was 
wicked  because  it  hurt  so  much.  It  made  her  un- 
happy to  be  told  that  one  needed  to  explain  what 
one  felt.  She  could  not  understand  the  thing  that 
was  good  if  it  did  not  make  one  glad.  It  never 
occurred  to  her  to  try  to  justify  herself  before  some 
obscure  principle.  Yet  others  had  convinced  her  of 
her  lack  and  she  was  in  a  continual  state  of  apology 
toward  them  because  so  much  was  beyond  her.  She 
loved  Aunt  Julia.  She  wanted  Paul  to  love  her. 

May  wondered  if  Paul  despised  her  because  she 
never  resented  it  when  he  kissed  her.  But  the  sus- 
picion of  his  contempt,  while  it  confused  her,  did 


NARCISSUS  117 

no  more  than  emphasize  her  conviction  of  helpless- 
ness. 

Suddenly  Paul  ceased  humming.  He  leaned  to- 
ward her  and  took  her  hand.  She  pretended  not 
to  notice,  but  she  was  happy.  Her  fingers  in  his 
grew  cold  and  covered  with  sweat.  "I  think  you're 
unkind  to  them,  Paul."  Her  voice  shook.  There 
was  a  waiting  feeling  in  her  when  he  touched  her. 

She  made  him  sick  of  himself.  Silly  little  thing! 
He  dropped  her  hand  as  if  he  had  forgotten  it.  He 
was  hunched  forward  now  with  his  knees  crossed. 
He  watched  the  floor  where,  in  the  bright  afternoon 
light,  dark  patches  were  moving.  There  was  a 
curious  evil  expression  in  his  furtive  eyes.  His 
hair  was  rumpled  in  a  colorless  thatch  across  his 
head.  His  mouth  was  babyish.  "That  reminds  me 
of  a  story — "  Paul  began.  He  paused  a  moment 
with  a  flickering  sneer  on  his  lips.  Aunt  Julia,  damn 
her!  All  of  him  was  against  May.  In  spite  of 
his  ugly  look,  his  rumpled  hair  and  childish  mouth 
were  disarming. 

May  was  uncomfortable.  She  did  not  understand 
why  he  hesitated.  "Go  on." 

He  glanced  at  her  and  was  irritated  by  the  air  of 


ii8  NARCISSUS 

uneasiness  which  came  to  her  whenever  she  was  un- 
certain. Why  couldn't  she  laugh!  Aunt  Julia's 
brat!  He  wanted  to  punish  her.  She  saw  his  un- 
even blush  of  defiance. 

He  began  to  speak  quickly.  "Oh,  a  story — about 
a  woman  and  a  monkey."  He  went  on.  His  eyes 
were  wicked  and  amused.  When  he  had  finished 
he  whistled  and  gazed  at  the  ceiling  again. 

May  did  not  understand  the  story,  but  she  felt 
that  he  told  it  to  embarrass  her  and  make  her  sad. 

There  was  silence  when  he  had  done,  until,  with 
white  face  and  strained  lips,  he  resumed  his  whis- 
tling. In  his  irritation  with  her  he  wanted  to  cry. 
"Why  don't  you  laugh?"  he  asked  finally. 

May  blushed.  Her  lashes  were  still  wet,  her  lips 
tremulous.  She  stuttered,  "I— I  can't." 

He  jumped  to  his  feet  and  jerked  up  the  cap  he 
had  thrown  aside.  "Good-by." 

"Why,  Paul,  what's  the  matter?  You're  not  go- 
ing? What  for?"  He  was  halfway  to  the  door  be- 
fore May  recovered  herself  and  stood  up. 

"I  was  going  to  meet  a  fellow  this  afternoon.  I'll 
let  you  pursue  your  juvenile  way  undented."  He 
hesitated,  sneering,  not  seeing  her. 

May  could  not  speak  at  once.    "Please  don't  go." 


NARCISSUS  119 

When  at  last  he  glanced  at  her  there  was  mist 
in  his  eyes.  "Why  not?"  He  saw  that  she  was 
smiling  as  if  across  the  fear  that  was  in  her  look. 
He  resented  her  fear  and  he  loved  her  for  it.  Oh, 
little  May!  He  loved  her. 

"Because — because!  You  were  angry  with  me 
when  I  didn't  laugh."  She  accused  him.  Why  did 
he  watch  her  so  intently  yet  unseeingly?  She  felt 
his  look  as  something  which  drew  her  inward,  into 
herself,  too  deep. 

"I'm  not  angry  with  you,  May.  Honestly,  I'm 
not."  In  a  dream  he  came  near  her:  her  thin  small 
figure,  her  pointed  face,  her  bright  blank  eyes,  fright- 
ened and  sweet.  He  came  near  her  pale  thick  hair 
where  it  was  caught  away  from  her  temples.  As 
she  turned  to  him  he  could  see  the  end  of  her  braid 
swinging  below  her  waist.  He  was  aware  of  her 
legs,  with  the  straight  calves  that  showed  below 
her  skirt,  and  of  her  breasts  pointed  separately 
through  her  sailor  blouse.  Everything  that  he  saw 
was  a  part  of  something  that  was  killing  him.  That 
was  why  he  did  not  love  her.  She  was  too  young. 
Because  of  this  he  hated  her.  She  was  like  himself. 
He  had  to  hate  her.  To  save  himself  from  the  sense 


T20  NARCISSUS 

of  dying  and  being  utterly  lost,  he  had  to  hate  her. 
Though  it  was  Aunt  Julia's  fault.  He  knew  that. 

All  those  books!  He  had  tormented  himself 
trying  to  understand  them.  Two  years  ago  he 
hid  under  the  mattress  the  picture  of  the  fat 
woman.  Childish.  He  abhorred  the  picture  of 
the  naked  woman  as  he  abhorred  his  Aunt  with 
her  filthy  priggishness.  He  remembered  that  long 
ago  when  he  asked  her  something  he  wanted  to 
know  she  called  him  a  dirty  little  boy.  Poor  kid! 
He  was  sorry  for  himself.  It  was  all  a  part  of 
Julia  and  the  world  and  something  that  was  killing 
him  because  there  was  no  truth  or  beauty  in  life. 
They  went  on  smiling  in  their  ugliness,  torturing  the 
beautiful  things  and  making  them  ugly  like  them- 
selves. He  would  kill  himself.  He  did  not  belong 
in  this  ugly  cruel  world. 

White  little  May,  white  like  a  moon.  Like  snow 
and  silence  under  the  trees.  Snow  and  silence  and 
rest  forever  and  ever.  Forever  and  ever.  Rest! 
Rest! 

May  let  him  touch  her.  For  a  moment  she  was 
happy  in  a  bright  blank  eternal  happiness  that  was 
an  instant  only.  Then  she  was  cold  and  alone  and 
afraid  of  him:  of  his  face  so  hot  and  close,  the 


NARCISSUS  121 

queer  look  in  his  eyes,  and  of  his  hands  that  she 
could  not  stop. 

"Oh,  Paul,"  she  kept  saying,  half  sobbing. 
"Please,  Paul!  Don't.  Oh,  don't,  don't!  Please, 
Paul,  don't!" 

When  he  drew  her  down  beside  him  and  they 
rested  together  on  the  couch  she  felt  the  hot  nap 
of  the  cloth  cover,  stiff  against  her  cheek.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  the  afternoon  light  was  terrible  in  the  still 
room.  Bobby  had  a  new  canary  bird  and  Aunt  Julia 
had  hung  the  cage  inside  the  window.  The  bird 
hopped  from  the  perch  to  the  cage  floor,  from  the 
floor  to  the  perch,  and  the  thud  of  its  descent  was 
monotonously  reiterated.  Occasionally  seeds  fell  in 
a  series  of  ticks  against  the  polished  wainscot.  Be- 
yond Paul's  head,  May  looked  into  the  pane  above 
the  bird  cage,  and  the  glass  was  like  a  melted  sun. 
On  either  side  of  the  glowing  transparent  squares, 
the  yellow  curtains  were  slack.  May  fancied  that 
Bobby  was  on  the  stairs  and  that  she  could  hear 
old  Nellie  moving  about  in  the  kitchen  below. 

The  heat  in  the  room  made  May  cold.  Paul's 
hot  face  against  her  cheek  burnt  like  ice.  She  was 
dead  already,  shriveled  in  the  cold  heat.  She  pushed 
at  him  feebly.  She  could  scarcely  hear  her  own 


122  NARCISSUS 

words  that  told  him  to  stop.  They  were  just  a  low 
buzzing  from  her  cold  dead  lips.  Paul  was  making 
her  aware  of  herself,  of  her  body  that  she  did  not 
know,  that  now  she  could  never  forget. 

He  was  crying.  It  astonished  her  that  he  was 
crying,  but  she  felt  nothing  except  a  cold  burning 
sensation  that  came  from  the  warmth  of  his  tears 
slipping  across  her  face.  She  was  surprised  that  he 
cried  so  silently.  Now  he  lay  still  against  her  with 
his  face  in  her  hair.  His  stillness  was  too  deep.  She 
could  not  bear  it.  Her  body  was  cramped  and  stiff. 
She  felt  his  heart  beating  against  her  like  an  echo  of 
her  own,  and  above  it  she  heard  the  clicking  of  the 
traveling  clock  on  Aunt  Julia's  desk,  and  the  creaks 
of  the  woodwork  on  the  stairway  and  in  the  hall. 

If  somebody  came  she  would  lie  there  forever. 
She  was  dead.  She  wanted  to  think  she  was  dead. 

But  nobody  came. 

She  shut  her  eyes  again,  and  after  what  seemed 
a  long  time  she  knew  that  Paul  was  getting  up  and 
going  away  from  her.  She  closed  her  eyes  tighter 
so  that  she  might  not  see  him. 

When  he  tip-toed  across  the  room  he  made  the 
floor  shake.  May's  shut  eyes  with  the  sun  on  them 
were  sightless  flaming  lead  under  her  lids.  She 


NARCISSUS  123 

turned  a  little  and  hid  her  face  in  a  pillow,  won- 
dering where  Paul  was,  waiting  for  him  to  go  so 
that  she  could  bear  it.  All  at  once  she  knew  that 
he  had  come  out  of  somewhere  and  was  standing 
beside  her  in  the  light  looking  down. 

He  leaned  over  and  whispered,  "Get  up,  May! 
Somebody  'ull  come  in  and  find  you  lying  there ! " 

His  voice  was  frightened.  She  wondered  why  he 
was  afraid.  It  made  her  sick  with  his  fright.  He 
added,  "I  love  you." 

When  he  said,  "I  love  you,"  she  was,  without  ex- 
plaining it  to  herself,  ashamed  for  him.  She  did  not 
answer.  She  was  conscious  of  his  stealthiness.  It 
oppressed  her.  She  would  not  let  him  see  her  face. 
When  the  floor  shook  again  she  knew  he  was  going 
out.  She  waited  to  hear  his  footsteps  on  the  stairs 
and  the  slam  of  the  front  door.  Then  she  pushed 
herself  to  her  elbow  and  glanced  about.  In  her  new 
body  she  was  strange  with  herself.  She  stood  up 
and  smoothed  her  rumpled  dress  quickly  and 
guiltily.  Then  she  ran  out  of  the  room  and  upstairs 
to  her  own  garret. 

When  the  door  was  locked  she  threw  herself  on 
the  bed  on  her  face.  The  darkness  of  the  pillow 
was  cool  to  her  eyes  and  to  her  whole  soul.  She 


124  NARCISSUS 

wanted  her  throbbing  body  to  lie  still  in  the  cool 
dark.  She  felt  that  she  was  ugly  and  terrible  in  her 
disgrace.  She  wanted  to  ask  Paul  to  forgive  her  be- 
cause she  had  behaved  as  she  had.  Sobbing  into  the 
bedclothes,  she  kept  murmuring  to  herself,  "I  love 
him!  I  love  him!  Oh,  I  love  him!" 

TO  defend  his  vanity,  Paul  thought  of  himself 
as  outcast  and  desperate.  He  wanted  to  in- 
vite the  sense  of  tragedy  in  himself.  He  felt  numb 
and  despoiled.  In  the  intensity  of  his  misery  earlier 
in  the  day  there  had  been,  after  all,  a  kind  of  prom- 
ise. Now  May  had  gone  away  from  him  as  if  she 
were  dead.  The  thought  of  Aunt  Julia  gave  him 
only  dull  repugnance.  He  hoped  doggedly  that  no 
one  had  known  about  it  when  he  was  with  May.  Be- 
yond that  he  could  not  care. 

When  he  reached  home  he  went  up  to  his  room 
and,  though  it  was  yet  afternoon,  he  fell  asleep  sod- 
denly  without  a  dream.  Before,  his  fatigue  had  been 
sharp  and  hungry.  Now  he  was  only  tired  of  his 
own  emptiness  and  stupidity. 

At  the  dinner  hour  he  was  called  downstairs. 
Blaming  his  aunt  and  uncle  for  his  own  fears,  he  en- 
tered the  dining  room  with  a  hang-dog  air.  His 


NARCISSUS  125 

food  was  tasteless.  There  seemed  nothing  to  think 
about  until  his  uncle  glanced  at  him.  Guilt  per- 
meated Paul.  He  was  hot  and  angry. 

After  the  meal  he  went  upstairs  and  hid  himself 
in  the  dark.  He  wondered  if  any  of  the  beautiful 
things  he  had  dreamed  about  existed.  Everywhere 
was  inflated  dullness.  He  dwelt  on  this  until  he  as- 
tonished himself  by  finding  a  faint  pleasure  in  his 
reflections.  He  decided  that  the  stars  he  saw 
through  the  window  were  burning  nettles,  and  that 
they  pricked  his  glance  when  he  looked  at  them. 
Suddenly  there  was  something  substantial  and  satis- 
fying in  his  very  self-contempt.  He  decided  that 
he  was  no  better  than  Julia,  and  that  he  detested  her 
and  himself  for  the  same  reason.  It  was  peculiarly 
soothing  to  perceive  his  own  courage  in  self-condem- 
nation. In  despising  himself  he  unclothed  himself 
and  he  was  with  her  in  spiritual  nakedness,  which 
somehow  took  on  a  fleshly  image  so  that  he  dared 
not  think  of  it  too  clearly. 

LAURENCE  forced  himself  to  be  alone  with 
Julia.    He  went  into  her  sitting  room  casually 
and  took  up  a  book,  but  when  he  was  seated  he  did 
not  read.    His  elbow  rested  on  the  arm  of  the  chair 


126  NARCISSUS 

and  he  held  his  head  to  one  side  with  his  brow  laid 
against  his  palm. 

It  was  Sunday.  Dry  hot  air  blew  into  the  room 
from  the  almost  deserted  street.  Now  and  then  the 
window  curtains  swelled  slightly  with  the  breeze. 
The  canary's  cage  hung  in  the  light  near  the  ceiling. 
The  sunshine  slipped  in  wavering  lines  across  the 
gilded  bars.  The  bird  tapped  with  its  beak  on  the 
sides  of  the  cage  which  oscillated  with  its  quick  mo- 
tions. Sometimes  it  flew  to  its  swing  that  moved 
with  a  jerk,  and  a  shower  of  seeds  rattled  lightly 
against  the  sill  below. 

Julia  had  drawn  a  chair  up  to  her  desk  and  spread 
before  her  the  materials  for  letter  writing.  The  pen 
lay  idle  in  her  relaxed  fingers.  Laurence  tried  to  be 
unaware  that  she  was  watching  him.  "Laurence." 

He  stirred  a  little.  It  was  hard  to  look  at  her. 
"Yes?"  His  smile  was  cold  and  uneasy.  He  was 
not  ready  to  talk  with  her  about  himself. 

Julia  rose  and  came  toward  him.  He  glanced 
away. 

When  she  stood  by  him  she  placed  her  hand  on 
his.  He  made  an  effort  not  to  withdraw  his  fingers. 
When  he  lifted  his  face  to  her  his  expression  was 


NARCISSUS  127 

kind  and  obscure.  He  seemed  to  draw  a  veil  across 
himself. 

"I  can't  bear  it,  Laurence!"  She  knelt  down  be- 
side him.  She  wanted  him  to  hurt  her  against  his 
will.  If  she  could  rouse  him  against  her  she  could 
endure  it. 

Laurence  cleared  his  throat.  He  knew  that  he 
cringed  when  she  touched  his  sleeve.  He  thought 
her  voice  sounded  rich  and  strong  with  pain. 
Women  were  like  that.  "Can't  bear  what?"  He 
realized  that  his  subterfuge  was  absurd,  but  he 
smiled  at  her  again. 

She  did  not  answer.  Her  eyes  were  steady  with 
reproach.  Her  throat  swelled  with  repressed  sobs. 
"Why  can't  we  be  frank  about  things,  Laurence? 
We  can't  go  on  like  this  always.  I  know  I  have  no 
right  here.  I  ought  to  go  away!  I  know  I  ought. 
Somehow  I  haven't  the  courage." 

He  moved  his  arm  away  and  stared  out  of  the 
window.  The  smile  went  from  his  eyes.  His  gaze 
was  vacant  and  fixed.  "I  don't  ask  you  to  go,  Julia." 
His  face  twitched.  His  whole  body  showed  his 
breaking  resistance.  Yet  she  knew  that  he  would  not 
relent. 


128  NARCISSUS 

"But  you  don't  ask  me  to  stay.  It  is  painful  to 
you  to  have  me  here,  Laurence." 

For  a  moment  he  compressed  his  lips  without  an- 
swering her.  "I  think  you  must  decide  everything 
for  yourself.  Your  life  is  your  own.  You  have 
told  me  that  one  of  my  mistakes  in  the  past  was  in 
condescending  to  you  and  attempting  to  impose  my 
own  negative  views  upon  you." 

"But,  Laurence,  how  can  I  decide  a  thing  like 
this  as  if  it  were  unrelated  to  you?  If  you  would 
only  talk  to  me!  If  you  didn't  consider  everything 
that  happens  between  us  as  if  it  were  irrevocable!" 

Laurence's  expression  softened.  He  turned  his 
head  so  that  she  could  not  see  his  eyes.  "I  react 
slowly,  Julia.  I  can't  arrive  at  a  set  of  difficult  con- 
clusions and  then  upset  them  in  a  moment."  He  sat 
stiffly,  looking  straight  before  him. 

Julia  got  up  and  began  to  walk  about,  pressing 
the  fingers  of  one  hand  about  the  knuckles  of  the 
other.  "It's  killing  me!"  she  said.  Cilt's  killing 
me!" 

Laurence  suffered.  He  stood  up  like  an  old  man. 
"In  a  few  weeks  the  children  are  going  off  to  school. 
Don't  you  think  it  would  be  better  for  their  sakes  if 
we  waited  until  then  to  untangle  our  affairs?" 


NARCISSUS  129 

Julia  came  to  him  again.  She  saw  that  his  eyes 
swam  in  a  dull  moist  light.  Self-reproach  made  her 
giddy.  In  condemning  herself  she  was  almost  happy. 
She  observed  how,  involuntarily,  he  drew  away  from 
her.  "I  won't  touch  you,  Laurence."  She  was  aware 
of  the  injustice  and  cruelty  of  what  she  said.  No 
suffering  but  her  own  seemed  of  any  consequence 
to  her. 

"You  have  no  right  to  say  that,  Julia." 

"I  know  it.  Kiss  me,  Laurence.  Say  that  you 
forgive  me." 

"How  can  I?  What  is  there  to  forgive?"  He 
kissed  her.  His  lips  were  hard  with  repugnance. 
She  welcomed  the  bitterness  that  was  in  his  kiss.  He 
said,  "I  have  to  think  of  myself,  Julia." 

She  did  not  know  how  to  reply.  He  went  out  of 
the  room,  not  looking  at  her  again. 

She  felt  naked  and  outrageous.  She  wanted  to 
fling  away  what  she  thought  he  did  not  treasure. 
When  the  pulse  pounded  in  her  wrists  and  temples 
she  fancied  that  her  horror  could  not  burst  free 
from  itself. 

Her  sick  mind  found  pleasure  in  destroying  its 
own  illusions.  It  seemed  absurd  that,  having  re- 
jected so  many  gods,  she  had  made  a  god  of  herself. 


130  NARCISSUS 

When  her  reflections  became  most  bitter  she  grew 
calm  and  exalted.  Her  blood  ran  light.  Having  de- 
stroyed her  world,  her  disbelief  somehow  survived 
as  if  on  an  eminence. 

However,  her  emotions  rejected  their  own  finality. 
She  felt  that  she  had  to  go  -on  somewhere  outside 
herself. 

MAY  waited  in  vain  for  Paul  to  come  back. 
She  convinced  herself  that  she  was  not  good. 
When  she  believed  in  her  own  humility  she  was  not 
afraid  to  admit  that  she  wanted  to  see  him.  She  was 
unhappy  now  with  her  own  body.  As  soon  as  she 
saw  her  little  breasts  uncovered  she  felt  frightened 
and  ashamed  and  wanted  to  hide  herself.  When 
she  was  alone  in  her  room  she  cried  miserably,  but 
as  soon  as  her  tears  ceased  to  flow  she  lay  on  her  bed 
in  an  empty  waiting  happiness,  thinking  of  Paul. 
She  recalled  all  that  related  to  him  since  she  had 
first  known  him.  It  gave  her  a  beautiful  happy 
sense  of  want  to  remember  him  so  distinctly.  How- 
ever, when  her  thoughts  arrived  at  the  memory  of 
the  last  thing  that  had  occurred  between  them  she 
imagined  that  she  wished  him  to  kill  her  so  that  she 
need  no  longer  be  ashamed. 


NARCISSUS  131 

I  want  to  be  dead!  I  want  to  be  dead!  She  said 
this  over  and  over  into  her  pillow.  Her  beautiful 
pale  braid  of  hair  was  in  disorder.  Her  thin  legs 
protruded  from  her  wrinkled  skirts.  She  lifted  her 
small  tear-smudged  face  with  her  eyes  tight  shut. 

May  wanted  to  tell  Aunt  Julia,  but  dared  not. 
She  knew  Aunt  Julia  was  sad,  though  she  did  not 
know  why.  Aunt  Julia,  however,  resisted  confi- 
dences. When  she  came  in  from  work  and  found 
May  waiting  for  her  in  the  hall  or  on  the  stairs 
Aunt  Julia  made  herself  look  tired  and  kind.  "Well, 
May,  dear,  how  are  you?  You  seem  to  be  a  very 
bored  young  lady  these  days.  Your  father  is  think- 
ing of  sending  you  away  to  school  when  Bobby  goes. 
How  would  you  like  that?"  And  she  smiled  in  a 
perfunctory  far-away  fashion. 

May  saw  that  Aunt  Julia  was  in  another  world 
and  did  not  want  her.  "I  don't  care.  Whatever 
you  and  Papa  decide.  I'm  an  awful  ninny  and 
should  be  terribly  homesick." 

"That  would  be  good  for  you.  You  must  learn 
to  be  self-reliant."  Without  glancing  behind  her, 
Aunt  Julia  passed  quickly  up  the  stairs  and  disap- 
peared into  her  room.  The  door  shut. 

To  May  it  was  as  if  Aunt  Julia  knew  everything 


132  NARCISSUS 

already  and  put  her  aside  because  of  what  she  had 
done.  She  was  dead  and  corroded  with  shame. 
Lonely,  she  wandered  out  into  the  back  yard.  The 
sky,  in  the  late  sunshine,  was  covered  with  a  pale 
haze  like  faint  blue  dust.  A  shining  wind  blew 
May's  hair  about  her  face  and  swirled  the  long  stems 
of  uncut  grass.  The  seeded  tops  were  like  brown- 
violet  feathers.  Beyond  the  roofs  and  fences  the 
horizon  towered,  vast  and  cold  looking. 

May  wanted  it  to  be  night  so  that  she  could  hide 
herself.  She  knew  Nellie  was  in  the  kitchen  door- 
way watching  her.  She  wanted  to  avoid  the  eyes 
of  the  old  woman.  Paul  could  not  love  her  while 
she  was  despised. 

White  clothes  on  a  line  were  stretched  between 
the  windows  of  the  apartment  houses  that  overhung 
the  alley.  The  bleached  garments,  soaked  with  blue 
shadow,  made  a  thick  flapping  sound  as  the  wind 
jerked  them  about.  When  the  sun  sank  the  grass 
was  an  ache  of  green  in  the  empty  twilight.  May 
thought  it  was  like  a  painful  dream  coming  out  of 
the  earth.  She  was  afraid  of  the  fixity  of  the  white 
sky  that  stared  at  her  like  a  madness.  She  knew 
herself  small  and  ugly  when  she  wanted  to  feel  beau- 


NARCISSUS  133 

tiful.    If  she  were  only  like  Aunt  Julia  she  would 
not  be  ashamed. 

It  grew  dark.  She  loved  the  dark.  There  was  a 
black  glow  through  the  branches  of  the  elm  tree 
against  the  fence.  The  large  stars,  unfolding  like 
flowers,  were  warm  and  strange.  In  the  enormous 
evening  only  a  little  shiver  of  self -awareness  was 
left  to  her.  She  tried  to  imagine  that,  because  she 
was  ugly  and  impure,  Paul  had  already  killed  her. 
The  strangeness  and  exaltation  she  felt  came  to  her 
because  she  was  dead.  She  loved  him  for  destroy- 
ing her. 

DUDLEY  gave  up  the  attempt  to  take  Laurence 
into  his  life.  Dudley  had  insisted  on  seeing 
the  Parleys  several  times,  but  the  result  of  these 
meetings  was  always  disappointing.  What  he  con- 
sidered their  small  hard  pride  erected  about  them 
a  wall  of  impenetrable  reserves.  He  pitied  them 
in  their  conventionality.  They  regard  me,  he 
thought,  as  a  wrecker  of  homes,  and  the  fact  that  I 
have  been  Julia's  lover  prevents  them  from  recog- 
nizing me  in  any  other  guise. 

He  felt  that  he  was  learning  a  lesson.    He  must 


134  NARCISSUS 

avoid  destructive  intimacies.  If  he  gave,  even  to 
small  souls,  he  had  to  give  everything.  In  order  to 
save  himself  for  his  art  he  must  learn  to  refuse.  He 
was  in  terror  of  love,  in  terror  of  his  own  necessities, 
and  afraid  of  meeting  acquaintances  who,  with  the 
brutality  of  casual  minds,  could  shake  his  confidence 
in  himself  by  uncomprehending  statements  regard- 
ing his  work. 

He  grew  morbid,  shut  himself  up  in  his  studio, 
and  refused  to  admit  any  validity  in  the  art  of  paint- 
ers of  his  own  generation.  He  persuaded  himself 
that  he  was  the  successor  of  El  Greco  and  that  since 
El  Greco  no  painter  had  done  anything  which  could 
be  considered  of  significance  to  the  human  race. 
He  would  not  even  admit  that  Cezanne  (whom  he 
had  formerly  admired)  was  a  man  of  the  first  order. 
He  was  a  painter,  to  be  sure,  but  Dudley  could  ally 
himself  only  with  those  whose  gifts  were  pro- 
phetic. 

His  imaginings  about  himself  assumed  such 
grandiose  proportions  that  he  scarcely  dared  to  be- 
lieve in  them.  To  avoid  any  responsibility  for  his 
conception  of  himself  he  was  persuaded  that  there 
was  a  taint  of  madness  in  him.  Rather  than  awaken 
from  a  dream  and  find  everything  a  delusion,  he 


NARCISSUS  135 

would  take  his  own  life.  He  lay  all  day  in  his  room 
and  kept  the  blinds  drawn,  and  was  tortured  with 
pessimistic  thoughts,  until,  by  the  very  blankness  of 
his  misery,  he  was  able  to  overcome  the  critical  con- 
clusions of  his  intelligence.  He  did  not  eat  enough 
and  his  health  began  to  suffer.  His  absorption  in 
death  drew  him  to  concrete  visions  of  what  would 
follow  his  suicide.  He  was  unable  to  close  his  eyes 
without  confronting  the  vision  of  his  own  putrid 
disintegrating  flesh.  In  his  body  he  found  infinite 
pathos.  As  much  as  he  wanted  to  escape  his  physi- 
cal self,  it  was  sickening  to  think  of  leaving  it  to 
the  indignities  of  burial  at  the  hands  of  its  enemies. 

The  idea  of  suicide,  haunting  him  persistently, 
aroused  a  resistant  spirit  in  him.  He  exaggerated 
the  envies  of  his  contemporaries.  He  fancied  that 
they  feared  him  far  more  than  they  actually  did  and 
were  longing  for  his  annihilation.  He  decided  that 
something  occult  which  originated  outside  him  was 
impelling  him  toward  self-destruction.  In  refusing 
to  kill  himself  he  was  combating  evil  suggestions 
rather  than  succumbing  to  his  own  repugnance  to 
suffering  and  ugliness. 

While  he  was  in  this  frame  of  mind  some  one  sent 
bim  a  German  paper  that  was  the  organ  of  an  ob- 


136  NARCISSUS 

scure  artistic  group.  In  this  journal,  insignificantly 
printed,  was  a  flattering  reference  to  Dudley.  He 
was  called  one  of  the  leaders  of  a  new  movement  in 
America.  He  read  the  article  twice  and  was  ashamed 
of  the  elation  it  afforded  him.  He  could  not  admit 
his  deep  satisfaction  in  such  a  remote  triumph. 
With  a  sense  of  release,  he  indulged  to  the  full  the 
vindictiveness  of  his  emotions  toward  his  own  coun- 
trymen— those  who  were  fond  of  dismissing  him 
as  merely  one  of  the  younger  painters  of  misguided 
promise. 

However,  the  praise  from  men  as  unrecognized  as 
himself  encouraged  his  defiance  to  such  a  point 
that  he  resumed  work  on  a  canvas  which  he  had 
thrown  aside.  His  own  efforts  intoxicated  him.  He 
refused  to  doubt  himself.  Life  once  more  had  the 
inevitability  of  sleep.  He  knew  that  he  was  living 
in  a  dream  and  only  asked  that  he  should  not  be 
disturbed. 

He  needed  to  run  away  from  the  suggestion  of 
familiar  things.  He  decided  to  go  abroad  again  and 
wrote  to  borrow  money  of  his  father.  Dudley  made 
up  his  mind  to  avoid  Paris  where,  as  he  expressed 
it,  the  professional  artist  was  rampant.  He  wanted 
to  visit  the  birthplace  of  a  Huguenot  ancestor  who 


NARCISSUS  137 

had  suffered  martyrdom  for  his  religion.  It  stimu- 
lated him  to  think  of  himself  as  the  last  of  a  line 
whose  representatives  had,  from  time  to  time,  been 
crucified  for  their  beliefs. 

TWO  endless  streams  of  people  moved,  parti- 
colored, in  opposite  directions  along  the  nar- 
row street.  The  high  stone  buildings  were  tinged 
with  the  red  of  the  low  sunshine.  Hundreds  of  win- 
dows, far  up,  catching  the  glare,  twinkled  with  the 
harsh  fixity  of  gorgon's  eyes.  Beyond  everything 
floated  the  pale  brilliant  September  sky  overcast 
by  the  broad  rays  which  stretched  upward  from  the 
invisible  sun. 

Julia,  returning  from  the  laboratory,  hesitated  at 
a  crowded  corner  and  found  Dudley  beside  her. 

"This  is  pleasant,  Julia.  Fve  been  wanting  to 
see  you  and  Laurence  Farley.  Fm  sailing  for  Eu- 
rope next  week,  and  I  should  have  been  very  much 
disappointed  if  I  had  been  obliged  to  go  off  without 
meeting  you  again."  He  tried  to  speak  easily  while 
he  looked  at  her  with  an  expression  of  reproach. 
Julia  smiled  and  held  out  her  hand.  There  was  a 
defensive  light  in  her  eyes  which  he  interpreted  as 
a  symptom  of  dislike.  He  wanted  to  convince 


i38  NARCISSUS 

himself  that  every  one,  even  she,  was  completely 
alienated  from  him.  All  that  fed  his  pain  strength- 
ened his  vacillating  egotism. 

Julia  noted  the  familiar  details  of  his  appear- 
ance: his  short  arms  in  the  sleeves  of  a  perfectly  fit- 
ting coat;  the  plump  hairy  white  hand  which 
reached  to  hers  a  trifle  unsteadily;  his  short  well- 
made  little  body  that  he  held  absurdly  erect;  the 
wide  felt  hat  that  he  tried  to  wear  carelessly,  which, 
in  consequence,  was  slightly  to  one  side  on  the  back 
of  his  head  and  showed  his  dark  curls;  the  child- 
ishly fresh  color  which  glowed  through  the  beard  in 
his  carefully  shaven  cheeks;  his  small  full  mouth 
that  sulked  in  repose  but  when  he  smiled  displayed 
exaggeratedly  all  of  his  little  even  teeth;  his  prettily 
modeled,  womanish  nose;  the  silky  reddish  mustache 
on  his  short  lip;  and  his  soft,  ingratiating,  long- 
lashed  eyes.  Everything  in  his  appearance  disarmed 
her  resentment  of  him.  Yet  she  knew  that  if  she  ex- 
pressed anything  of  her  state  of  mind  he  would  take 
advantage  of  her  vulnerability.  She  was  prepared 
to  see  his  gaze  harden  toward  her  and  his  demeanor, 
puerile  now,  become  ruthless  and  commanding.  She 
could  not  analyze  the  thing  in  herself  that  made  her 
so  helpless  before  him.  She  was  able,  she  thought, 


NARCISSUS  139 

to  observe  him  coldly.  She  withdrew  her  hand  from 
his  and  said,  "So  you  are  going  away  again?  I  am 
glad  for  your  sake.  I  know  how  America  must  irk 
you.  Even  from  my  viewpoint  I  can  see  that  it  is 
the  last  country  for  an  artist."  At  the  same  mo- 
ment her  heart  contracted  and  she  told  herself  that 
there  was  something  false  and  monstrous  in  Dudley 
which  suppressed  her  natural  impulse  to  be  frank 
in  stating  what  she  felt  for  him. 

Dudley  walked  beside  her.  She  wants  me  to  go 
away!  He  insisted  on  believing  this.  To  know 
that  she  continued  to  suffer,  however,  comforted 
him  as  much  now  as  it  had  in  the  past.  He  sensed 
that  she  had,  in  some  remote  way,  remained  subject 
to  him.  Because  of  this  she  was  dear.  When  he 
remembered  that,  but  for  this  accidental  meeting, 
he  would  not  have  communicated  his  departure  to 
her  he  was  momentarily  panic-stricken.  He  no 
longer  wished  to  detach  himself  from  her. 

"Tell  me  about  your  work.  What  are  you  doing 
now?" 

He  took  her  arm.  "I  can't  talk  about  my  work, 
Julia.  Something  goes  out  of  me  that  ought  to  go 
into  the  work  when  I  talk  about  it  too  much.  That's 
my  struggle — my  fight.  It's  terrifying  at  times.  I 


140  NARCISSUS 

know  all  the  hounds  are  baying  at  my  heels.  When 
I  go  abroad  this  time  I  am  going  to  avoid  Paris.  I 
know  dozens  of  cities.  Paris  is  the  only  one  which  is 
a  work  of  art.  That's  why  I  am  going  to  keep 
away.  I  am  through  with  the  finality  of  that  kind 
of  art.  I  am  going  abroad  to  feel  how  much  of  an 
American  I  am.  That's  why  I  hate  it  so.  It's  in 
me — a  part  of  me.  I  can't  escape  it.  I  must  ex- 
press it.  That  is  my  salvation — in  belonging  to 
America."  It  was  almost  irresistible  to  tell  her 
some  of  the  conclusions  he  had  arrived  at  to  com- 
fort himself,  but  he  knew  that  Julia  never  ap- 
proached a  subject  from  a  cosmic  angle.  She  made 
him  feel  small  and  unhappy  and  full  of  a  home- 
sickness for  understanding.  In  her  very  crudity 
she  was  the  life  he  had  to  face.  "I  want  to  talk  to 
you  about  yourself,  Julia.  There  are  clouds  of  mis- 
understanding between  us.  We  mustn't  leave  things 
like  this."  He  pressed  her  arm  against  his  side. 

She  was  ashamed  before  a  stout  woman  who  was 
passing  who  showed,  by  the  expression  of  dull  at- 
tention in  her  eyes,  that  she  had  overheard  his  re- 
mark. In  this  atmosphere  of  public  intimacy  Julia 
felt  grotesque.  "I  can't  talk  about  myself,  Dudley. 


NARCISSUS  141 

Don't  ask  me.  You've  put  me  out  of  your  life.  Why 
should  you  be  interested?" 

He  was  conscious  of  the  stiffening  of  her  body  as 
she  walked  beside  him  and  observed  the  forced  im- 
mobility of  her  face.  Emerging  from  the  self-loath- 
ing which  was  an  undercurrent  to  his  vanity,  he  was 
grateful  to  her  for  allowing  him  to  hurt  her.  He  be- 
gan to  wonder  if  he  were  not,  at  this  instant,  realiz- 
ing for  the  first  time  the  significance  of  his  relation- 
ship to  her — not  its  significance  in  her  life,  but  its 
significance  in  his  own.  He  admitted  to  himself  the 
cruelty  of  his  feeling  for  her.  He  wanted  to  torture 
her,  to  annihilate  her  even.  It  pleased  him  to  dis- 
cover in  himself  enormous  capacities  for  all  things 
that,  to  the  timid-minded,  constitute  sin.  He  must 
embrace  life  without  moral  limitations.  "Julia,  my 
dear — you  must  not  misunderstand  my  feeling  for 
you.  I  want  you — want  you  even  physically — as 
much  as  I  ever  did."  His  voice  shook  a  little.  "It 
is  only  because  I  understand  now  that  I  must  refuse 
myself  much.  I  have  found  just  this  last  month  a 
marvelous  spiritual  rest  which  makes  living  deeply 
more  acceptable." 

Julia  had  never  felt  more  contemptuous  of  him. 


142  NARCISSUS 

"What  I  have  to  say  would  only  convince  you  of  my 
limitations." 

"Don't  be  childish,  Julia.  You  don't  want  to  un- 
derstand me.  We  can't  talk  in  the  street.  Come  to 
my  studio  for  half  an  hour."  He  could  not  let  her 
go  away  from  him  yet. 

Julia's  pride  would  not  allow  her  to  object. 

On  the  way  they  passed  an  acquaintance  of  Dud- 
ley's. Dudley  could  not  explain  to  himself  why  he 
was  ashamed  of  being  seen  with  Julia.  He  wanted 
to  hurry  her  through  the  street. 

In  the  oncoming  twilight  the  brilliant  shop  fronts 
were  vague  with  glitter  and  color.  Above  the  glow- 
ering tower  of  an  office  building  a  blanched  star 
twinkled  among  faded  clouds.  When  they  reached 
Dudley's  doorstep  Julia  began  to  feel  morally  ill  and 
to  wonder  why  she  had  come.  As  Dudley  watched 
her  mount  the  long  green-carpeted  stairs  before  him 
he  was  suddenly  afraid  of  her. 

They  entered  the  studio.  It  was  almost  dark  in 
the  big  room.  The  canvas  that  Dudley  was  working 
on  stood  out  conspicuously  in  the  translucent  gloom 
that  filtered  through  the  skylight.  He  crossed 
the  floor  and  furtively  threw  an  old  dressing  gown 
over  the  painting. 


NARCISSUS  143 

Julia  found  herself  unable  to  speak.  When  she 
discerned  the  lounge  she  sat  down  weakly  upon  it. 

Dudley  stumbled  over  the  furniture.  He  wanted 
to  evade  the  moment  when  he  must  find  the  lamp. 
"Take  off  your  wrap,  Julia.  I  can't  find  matches. 
I  seem  to  have  mislaid  everything.  I  am  a 
graceless  host."  His  own  voice  sounded  strange 
to  him. 

When  at  last  he  struck  a  match,  Julia  said, 
"Don't! "  and  put  her  hands  to  her  eyes.  The  flame, 
which,  for  an  instant,  had  blindly  illumined  his  face, 
went  out.  Dudley  could  not  bring  himself  to  move. 
The  evening  sky,  dim  with  color,  was  visible  through 
the  windows  behind  him,  and  above  the  sombre  roof 
of  the  factory  that  rose  from  the  courtyard  his  figure 
was  thrown  into  relief.  Objects  over  which  there 
seemed  to  brood  a  peculiar  stillness  loomed  about 
the  room. 

The  tension  was  intolerable  to  them  both.  They 
were  experiencing  the  same  nausea  and  disgust  of 
their  emotions — emotions  which  seemed  inevitable 
for  such  a  moment  and  so  meaningless.  Dudley 
said,  "Where  are  you?  I'm  afraid  of  stumbling 
over  you." 

Julia,  a  hysterical  note  in  her  voice,  answered, 


144  NARCISSUS 

"Here  I  am,  Dudley."  She  knew  that  he  was  com- 
ing toward  her.  She  wanted  to  die  to  escape  the 
thing  in  herself  which  would  yield  to  him.  But  at 
this  instant  the  light  flashed  on  and  everything  that 
she  was  feeling  appeared  to  her  as  unjustifiable  and 
ridiculous. 

To  Dudley,  Julia's  body  represented  all  the  dark- 
ness of  self-distrust  and  the  coldness  of  his  own 
worldly  mind.  He  wished  that  her  personality  were 
more  bizarre  so  that  he  might  regard  his  past  acts 
as  mad  rather  than  commonplace.  He  did  not  know 
why  he  had  brought  her  to  the  studio  and  was 
ashamed  to  look  at  her.  There  was  nothing  for  it 
but  to  admit  the  duality  of  his  nature,  and  that  half 
of  it  was  weak.  He  longed  to  hasten  the  time  of 
sailing  when  he  would  begin  completely  his  life 
alone  in  which  nothing  but  the  artist  in  him  would 
be  permitted  to  survive.  He  said,  "Is  it  too  late  for 
me  to  make  you  some  tea?  Let  me  take  your  wrap." 
When  he  approached  her  he  averted  his  gaze. 

"I  can't  stay  long,  Dudley.  It  is  better  that  I 
shouldn't."  She  wanted  to  force  on  him  an  admis- 
sion of  her  defeat.  If  she  could  only  reproach  him 
by  showing  him  the  destruction  of  her  self-respect! 
Her  eyes  were  purposely  open  to  him.  He  would 


NARCISSUS  145 

not  see  her.  She  resented  his  obliviousness.  "You 
seem  to  me  a  master  of  evasion." 

When  he  sat  down  near  her,  he  said,  "Let  it  suf- 
fice, Julia,  that  I  take  the  hard  things  you  want  to 
say  to  me  as  coming  from  a  human  being  whom  I 
respect  and  care  for  enormously — and  I  still  think 
everything  fine  possible  between  us  provided  you  ac- 
cept in  me  what  I  have  never  doubted  in  you — my 
absolute  good  faith,  and  my  absolute  desire,  to  the 
best  of  my  powers,  to  be  honest  and  sincere  in  every 
moment  of  our  relationship,  past  and  present."- 

Julia  gave  him  a  long  look  which  he  obliged  him- 
self to  meet.  Then  she  got  up.  "I  can't  stay,  Dud- 
ley. You  won't  understand."  She  turned  her  head 
aside.  Her  voice  trembled.  "It's  painful  to  me." 

He  rose  also,  helplessly.  He  wanted  to  wring  a 
last  response  from  her.  It  was  impossible.  Every- 
thing seemed  dark.  He  would  not  forgive  her  for 
going  away. 

Julia  took  up  her  wrap  from  a  chair  and  went  out 
hastily  without  looking  back. 

Dudley  felt  a  swift  pang  of  despair.  Not  because 
she  was  gone,  but  because  her  going  left  him  again 
with  the  problem  of  reviving  the  hallucinations  of 
greatness.  It  was  not  easy  for  him  to  deceive  him- 


I46  NARCISSUS 

self.  He  could  do  so  only  in  the  throes  of  emo- 
tions which  exhausted  him.  In  moments  of  un- 
usual detachment  he  perceived  the  faults  in  himself 
as  apart  from  the  real  elements  of  genius  that  existed 
in  his  work.  But  he  was  not  strong  enough  to  con- 
tinue his  efforts  for  the  sake  of  an  imperfect  loveli- 
ness. Only  in  spiritual  drunkenness  could  he  con- 
quer his  susceptibility  to  the  nihilistic  suggestions 
of  complacent  and  unimaginative  beings. 


PART  III 

JULIA  and  Laurence  were  to  dine  with  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Hurst.  Of  late  Laurence  had  shown  an 
unusual  measure  of  social  punctiliousness.  Julia 
realized  that  his  new  determination  to  see  and  be 
with  people  was  a  part  of  his  resistance  to  suffering. 
She  thought  bitterly  that  his  regard  for  the  opinions 
of  others  was  greater  than  his  regard  for  her. 

Julia  put  on  a  thin  summer  gown,  very  simply 
made,  a  light  green  sash,  and  a  large  black  hat.  Her 
misery  had  pride  in  itself,  but  when  she  looked  in 
the  glass  she  was  pleased,  and  it  was  difficult  to  pre- 
serve the  purity  of  her  unhappiness.  As  she  de- 
scended the  stairs  at  Laurence's  side  she  felt  guiltily 
the  trivial  effect  of  her  becoming  dress.  She  wanted 
him  to  notice  her.  "I'm  afraid  we  are  late." 

His  fine  eyes,  with  their  sharp  far-away  expres- 
sion, rested  on  her  without  seeming  to  take  cogniz- 
ance of  her.  "I  hope  not.  Mrs.  Hurst  is  a  hostess 
who  demands  punctuality."  He  spoke  to  her  as  to 
a  child.  There  was  something  cruel  in  his  kindness. 

147 


148  NARCISSUS 

For  fear  of  exposing  himself  he  refused  her  equality. 

If  he  would  only  love  her — that  is  to  say,  desire 
her — Julia  knew  that  she  would  be  willing  to  make 
herself  even  more  abject  than  she  had  been,  and  that 
it  would  hurt  her  less  than  his  considerate  oblivious- 
ness.  Laurence  had  ordered  a  taxi-cab.  The  driver 
waited  at  the  curbstone  in  the  twilight.  He  turned 
to  open  the  door  for  the  two  as  they  came  out. 
Julia  was  avidly,  yet  resentfully,  aware  of  his  sur^ 
reptitious  admiration.  She  told  herself  that  her  sex 
was  so  beggared  that  she  accepted  without  pride  its 
recognition  by  a  strange  menial. 

It  was  a  beautiful  cool  evening.  The  glass  in  the 
taxi-cab  was  down.  The  cold  stale  smell  of  the 
city,  blowing  in  their  faces,  was  mingled  with  the 
perfume  of  the  fading  flowers  in  the  park  through 
which  they  passed.  The  trees  rose  strangely  from 
the  long  dim  drives.  Here  and  there  lights,  sur- 
rounded by  trembling  auras,  burst  from  the  foliage. 
Far  off  were  tall  illuminated  buildings,  and,  about 
them,  in  the  deep  sky,  the  reflection  was  like  a  glow- 
ing silence.  The  wall  of  buildings  had  the  appear- 
ance of  retreating  continually  while  the  cab  ap- 
proached, as  if  the  huge  blank  bulks  of  hotels  and 


NARCISSUS  149 

apartment  houses,  withdrawing,  held  an  escaping 
mystery. 

Laurence  scarcely  spoke.  Julia's  sick  nerves  re- 
sponded, with  a  feeling  of  expectation,  to  the  vague- 
ness of  her  surroundings.  Her  heart,  beating  terrifi- 
cally in  her  breast,  seemed  to  exist  apart  from  her, 
unaffected  by  her  depression  and  fatigue.  It  was 
too  alive.  She  cried  inwardly  for  mercy  from  it. 

Mrs.  Hurst's  home  was  a  narrow,  semi-detached 
house  with  a  brown-stone  front  and  a  bow  window. 
From  the  upper  floor  it  had  a  view  of  the  park. 
When  Julia  and  Laurence  arrived,  a  limousine  and 
Mr.  Hurst's  racer  were  already  drawn  up  before  the 
place.  There  were  lights  in  one  of  the  rooms  at  the 
right,  and,  between  the  heavy  hangings  that 
shrouded  its  windows,  one  had  glimpses  of  figures. 

Laurence  said  sneeringly,  "Hurst  has  arrived, 
hasn't  he!  Affluent  simplicity  in  a  brown-stone 
front.  You  are  honored  that  Mrs.  Hurst  is  carrying 
you  to  glory  with  her." 

Julia  said,  "But  they  really  are  quite  helpless  with 
their  money,  Laurence.  Mrs.  Hurst  has  a  genuine 
instinct  for  something  better." 

"How  ceremonious  is  this  occasion  anyway?    I 


150  NARCISSUS 

don't  know  whether  I  am  equal  to  the  frame  of  mind 
that  should  accompany  evening  dress." 

"There  will  only  be  one  or  two  people.  Mrs. 
Hurst  knows  how  we  dislike  formal  parties." 

Mr.  Hurst,  waving  the  servant  back,  opened  the 
front  door  himself.  He  was  a  tall,  narrow-shoul- 
dered man  with  a  thin  florid  face.  His  pale  humor- 
ous blue  eyes  had  a  furtive  expression  of  defense. 
His  mouth  was  thin  and  weak.  His  manner  sug- 
gested a  mixture  of  braggadocio  and  self-distrust. 
He  dressed  very  expensively  and  correctly,  but  there 
was  that  in  his  air  which  somehow  deprecated  the 
success  of  his  appearance.  His  sandy  hair,  growing 
thin  on  top,  was  brushed  carefully  away  from  his 
high  hollow  temples.  The  hand  he  held  out,  with  its 
carefully  manicured  nails,  was  stubby-fingered  and 
shapeless.  "Well,  well,  Farley!  How  goes  it?  I've 
been  trying  to  get  hold  of  you.  Want  to  go  for  a 
little  fishing  trip?"  He  was  confused  because  he 
had  not  spoken  to  Julia  first.  "How  d'ye  do,  Mrs. 
Farley?  Think  you  could  spare  him  for  a  few 
days?"  Mr.  Hurst's  greeting  of  Laurence  was  a 
combination  of  bluff  familiarity  and  resentful  re- 
spect. When  he  looked  at  Julia  his  eyes  held  hers 
in  bullying  admiration. 


NARCISSUS  151 

Julia  had  never  been  able  to  say  just  where  his 
elusive  intimacy  verged  on  presumption.  Feeling 
irritated  and  helpless  and  sweetly  sorry  for  herself, 
she  lowered  her  lids. 

"My— dear!"  Mrs.  Hurst  kissed  Julia.  "How 
sweet  you  look!  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Farley?  It 
was  nice  of  you  to  let  Julia  persuade  you  to  come 
to  us.  We  really  feel  you  are  showing  your  confi- 
dence in  us.  Julia,  dear  girl,  tells  me  you  have  as 
much  of  an  aversion  to  parties  as  Charles  and  I 
have.  This  will  be  a  homely  evening.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Wilson  are  here,  and  there  is  a  young  Hindoo 
who  has  been  giving  some  charming  talks  at  the  Set- 
tlement House.  He  speaks  very  poor  English  but 
he's  so  interested  in  America.  He's  only  become 
acquainted  with  a  few  American  women.  I  want 
him  to  meet  Julia.  I  think  he'll  amuse  her  too." 
Mrs.  Hurst's  short  little  person  was  draped  in  a 
black  lace  robe  embroidered  with  jet.  She  squinted 
when  she  smiled.  Minute  creases  appeared  about 
her  bright  eyes.  Her  expression  was  gentle  and  de- 
ceitful. Her  arms,  protruding  from  her  sleeve 
draperies,  were  thin,  and  their  movements  weak. 
Her  wedding  ring  and  one  large  diamond-encircled 
turquoise  hung  loosely  on  the  third  finger  of  her  left 


152  NARCISSUS 

hand.  Her  hands  were  meager  and  showed  that  her 
bones  were  very  small  and  delicate.  About  her  hol- 
low throat  she  wore  a  black  velvet  band,  and  her 
cheeks,  no  longer  firm,  were,  nevertheless,  child- 
ishly full  above  it.  Though  she  said  nothing  that 
justified  it,  one  felt  in  her  a  sort  of  affectionate 
malice  toward  those  with  whom  she  spoke.  In  her 
flattering  acknowledgment  of  Julia's  appearance 
there  was  something  insidiously  contemptuous. 
"Come  away  with  me,  child,  and  we'll  dispose  of  that 
hat.  Williams!"  She  turned  to  the  Negro  servant 
whom  Mr.  Hurst  had  intercepted  at  the  door.  She 
nodded  toward  Mr.  Farley.  The  Negro  went  for- 
ward obsequiously. 

"Yes,  Williams,  take  Mr.  Farley's  hat,"  Mr. 
Hurst  said.  Then,  in  humorous  confidence,  sotto 
voce,  "How  about  a  drink,  Farley?  My  wife  has 
that  young  Hindoo  here.  This  is  likely  to  be  a  dry 
intellectual  evening.  That  may  suit  you,  but  I  have 
to  resort  to  first  aid.  Want  to  talk  to  you  about  that 
fishing  trip.  Come  on  to  my  den  with  me." 

Shortly  after  this,  Julia,  descending  the  stairs  with 
her  hostess,  found  Laurence  and  Mr.  Hurst  in  the 
hall  again.  Laurence,  his  lips  twisted  disagreeably, 
was  listening  with  polite  but  irritating  quiescence  to 


NARCISSUS  153 

Mr.  Hurst's  incessant  high-pitched  talk.  Mr.  Hurst, 
who  had  been  surreptitiously  glancing  toward  the 
shadowy  staircase  that  hung  above  his  guest's  head, 
was  quick  to  observe  the  approach  of  the  women. 
He  had  always  found  fault  with  what  he  considered 
to  be  Julia's  coldness,  but  he  admired  her  tall  figure 
and  her  fine  shoulders.  "Hello,  hello!  Here  they 
are!" 

"Charles!"  Mrs.  Hurst  was  whimsically  disap- 
proving. "Why  haven't  you  taken  Mr.  Farley  in  to 
meet  our  guests?  You  are  an  erratic  host." 

Mr.  Hurst  moved  forward.  "That's  all  right! 
That's  all  right!  Farley  and  I  had  some  strategic 
confidences.  You  take  him  off  and  show  him  your 
Hindoo.  I  want  Mrs.  Farley  to  come  out  and  see 
my  rose  garden,  out  in  the  court.  I'm  going  to  have 
a  few  minutes  alone  with  her  before  you  conduct  her 
to  the  higher  spheres  and  leave  me  struggling  in  my 
natural  earthly  environment.  I  won't  be  robbed  of 
a  little  tete-&-tete  with  a  pretty  woman,  just  be- 
cause there's  an  Oriental  gentleman  in  the  house  who 
can  tell  her  all  about  her  astral  body.  Did  you  ever 
see  your  astral  body,  Mrs.  Farley?" 

"Boo!"  Mrs.  Hurst  waved  him  off  and  pushed 
Julia  toward  him.  "Go  on,  if  she  has  patience  with 


154  NARCISSUS 

you.  But  mind  you  only  keep  her  there  a  moment. 
IVe  told  Mr.  Vakanda  she  was  coming  and  I'm  sure 
he's  already  uneasy.  Rose  garden,  indeed!  It's 
quite  dark,  Charles!  Come,  Mr.  Farley.  Put  this 
scarf  about  you,  dear."  She  took  a  scarf  up  and 
threw  it  around  Julia's  shoulders. 

"Ta-ta!"  Mr.  Hurst  came  confidently  to  Julia, 
and  they  walked  out  together  across  a  glass-enclosed 
veranda  that  was  brilliantly  lit.  Descending  a  few 
steps  they  were  among  the  roses.  "Autumn  roses," 
said  Mr.  Hurst.  The  bushes  drooped  in  vague 
masses  about  them.  Here  and  there  a  blossom  made 
a  pale  spot  among  the  obscure  leaves.  Where  the 
glow  from  the  veranda  stretched  along  the  paths,  the 
grass  showed  like  a  blue  mist  over  the  earth,  and 
clusters  of  foliage  had  a  carven  look.  The  dark  wall 
of  the  next  house,  in  which  the  lighted  windows  were 
like  wounds,  towered  above  them.  Over  it  hung  the 
black  sky  covered  with  an  infinite  flashing  dust  of 
stars.  Julia's  face  was  in  shadow,  but  her  hair 
glistened  on  the  white  nape  of  her  neck  where  the 
black  lace  scarf  had  fallen  away. 

Mr.  Hurst  had  made  a  large  sum  of  money  from 
small  beginnings.  He  would  have  enjoyed  in  peace 
the  sense  of  power  it  gave  him,  and  the  indulgence 


NARCISSUS  155 

in  fine  wines  and  foods  and  expensive  surroundings 
for  which  he  lived,  but  his  wife  prevented  it.  He 
had  married  her  when  they  were  both  young  and  im- 
pecunious. She  had  been  a  school  teacher  in  a  mid- 
western  city.  She  had  managed  to  convince  him  that 
in  marrying  him  she  conferred  an  honor  upon  him, 
and  she  succeeded  now  in  making  him  feel  out  of 
place  and  absurd  in  the  environment  which  his  ef- 
forts had  created,  which  she,  however,  turned  to  her 
own  use.  Instead  of  flaunting  his  success  in  boast- 
ful generosity,  according  to  his  inclination,  he  found 
himself  compelled  to  deprecate  it.  He  had  a  secret 
conviction  that  he  was  a  man  to  be  reckoned  with, 
but  openly,  and  especially  before  his  wife's  friends, 
he  ridiculed  himself,  perpetrating  laborious  and 
repetitious  jokes  at  his  own  expense,  just  as  she 
ridiculed  him  when  they  were  alone. 

Mrs.  Hurst  was  chiefly  interested  in  what  she  con- 
sidered culture,  and  in  welfare  work,  and  among  her 
acquaintances  referred  to  her  husband  affectionately 
as  if  he  were  a  child.  She  had  no  connection  which 
would  give  her  the  entrle  to  socially  exclusive  cir- 
cles, and  she  was  wise  enough  not  to  attempt  pre- 
tenses which  it  would  have  been  impossible  for  her 
to  sustain.  Her  husband's  friends  were  mostly  self- 


156  NARCISSUS 

made  and  newly  rich.  She  was  affable  to  them  but 
maintained  toward  them  a  mild  but  superior  reserve. 
She  expressed  tolerantly  her  contempt  of  social  os- 
tentation and  suggested  that  among  Mr.  Hurst's 
play-fellows  she  was  condescending  from  her  more 
vital  and  intellectual  pursuits.  Men  who  drank  and 
played  golf  or  poker  between  the  hours  of  business 
considered  her  "brainy,"  but  "a  damned  nice 
woman".  She  was  generous  to  impecunious  celebri- 
ties of  whom  she  had  been  told  to  expect  success. 
On  one  occasion  when  she  and  Mr.  Hurst  were  sail- 
ing for  England  she  was  photographed  on  shipboard 
in  the  company  of  a  popular  novelist.  The  picture 
of  the  novelist,  showing  Mrs.  Hurst  beside  him  in 
expensive  furs,  appeared  in  a  woman's  magazine. 
She  had  never  seen  the  man  since,  but  she  always  re- 
ferred to  him  as  "a  charming  person".  She  was  fre- 
quently called  upon  to  conduct  "drives"  for  charity 
funds.  At  masquerade  balls  organized  for  similar 
purposes  her  name  appeared  with  others  better 
known  and  she  could  honestly  claim  acquaintance 
with  women  whose  frivolous  occupations  she  pro- 
fessed to  despise.  She  was  an  assiduous  attendant 
at  concerts  and  the  public  lectures  which  were  given 
from  time  to  time  by  men  of  letters  or  exponents  of 


NARCISSUS  157 

the  arts.  References  to  sex  annoyed  her.  The 
vagueness  of  her  aspirations  sometimes  led  her  into 
fits  of  depression  and  discouragement,  but  she  had 
a  small  crabbed  pride  that  prevented  her  from  allow- 
ing any  one — least  of  all,  perhaps,  her  husband — 
to  see  what  she  felt.  She  was  conscientiously  at- 
tentive to  children,  but  actually  bored  by  them. 
She  seldom  thought  of  her  own  childhood,  and 
she  sentimentalized  her  past  only  when  she  re- 
flected on  her  early  girlhood  and  the  instinctive 
longing  for  withheld  refinements  which  had  led  her 
away  from  a  sordid  uncultured  home  into  the  pro- 
fession of  a  teacher.  Often  her  husband  irritated 
her  almost  uncontrollably,  but  she  never  admitted 
that  the  moods  he  aroused  in  her  had  any  signifi- 
cance. She  was  ashamed  of  him  and  called  the  feel- 
ing by  other  names. 

Mr.  Hurst's  frustrated  vanity  consoled  itself 
somewhat  when  he  was  alone  before  his  mirror,  for 
even  his  wife  admitted  that  he  was  distinguished 
looking.  He  consumed  bottle  after  bottle  of  a  pre- 
scription which,  so  a  specialist  assured  him,  would 
make  his  hair  come  back.  Always  gay  and  affec- 
tionate and  generally  liked,  he  had  a  secret  sensi- 
tiveness that  he  himself  was  but  half  aware  of,  and 


158  NARCISSUS 

which  no  one  who  knew  him  suspected.  He  had 
never  abandoned  the  romantic  hope  that  some  day 
he  would  meet  a  woman  who  would  understand  him. 
It  was  his  unacknowledged  desire  to  have  his  wife's 
opinion  of  him  repudiated  that  made  him  perpetually 
unfaithful  to  her.  Years  ago  he  had  been  aston- 
ished to  discover  that  even  the  women  whom  his  wife 
introduced  him  to,  who  looked  down  on  his  absence 
of  culture,  and  whose  intellectual  earnestness  really 
seemed  to  him  grotesque,  were  quite  willing  to  take 
him  seriously  when  he  made  love  to  them.  He  was 
bewildered  but  elated  in  perceiving  the  vulnerability 
of  those  he  was  invited  to  revere.  Once  he  learned 
this  it  awakened  something  subtle  and  feminine  in 
his  nature  and  tempted  him  to  unpremeditated  cruel- 
ties. Though  his  sex  entanglements  were,  as  a  rule, 
gross  and  banal  enough,  and  quickly  succeeded  one 
another,  he  treasured  at  intervals  a  plaintive  convic- 
tion that  some  day  he  would  meet  the  woman  who 
had,  as  he  expressed  it,  "the  guts  to  love  him". 
Musing  on  this,  he  found  in  it  the  excuse  for  all  the 
unpleasing  episodes  in  which  he  took  part.  Out- 
wardly cynical,  he  was  sentimental  to  the  point  of 
bathos.  He  had  one  fear  that  obsessed  him,  the  fear 


NARCISSUS  159 

of  growing  old,  so  that  the  woman,  when  she  met 
him,  might  not  be  able  to  recognize  him. 

He  had  always  been  a  little  afraid  of  Julia  and 
had  a  secret  desire,  on  the  rare  occasions  when  they 
met,  to  hurt  her  in  some  way  that  might  force  her 
to  concede  their  equality.  He  called  himself  a  mix- 
ture of  pig  and  child  and  when  he  met  any  of  his 
wife's  "high-brow"  friends  he  envied  them  and 
wanted  to  trick  them  into  exhibiting  something  of 
the  pig  also.  Julia  was  young  and  pretty.  He 
sighed  and  wished  her  more  "human".  He  had 
never  found  her  so  charming  as  she  seemed  to-night. 
Under  the  accustomed  stimulus  of  alcohol  he  re- 
laxed most  easily  into  a  mood  of  affectionate  self- 
pity.  Without  being  drunk  in  any  perceptible  way, 
he  loved  himself  and  he  loved  every  one,  and  his 
conviction  of  human  pathos  was  strong.  Julia's 
tense  yet  curiously  subdued  manner  showed  him 
that  she  was  no  longer  oblivious  to  him.  He  fancied 
that  there  was  already  between  them  that  sudden 
rapport  which  came  between  him  and  women  who 
were  sexually  sensible  of  his  personality.  "You 
aren't  angry  with  me  for  taking  you  away  like  this?" 

Julia  said,  "How  could  I  be?    I  wish  all  social 


160  NARCISSUS 

gatherings  were  in  the  open.  It  seems  terrible  to 
shut  one's  self  indoors  on  these  beautiful  nights." 

Charles  Hurst  was  impelled  to  talk  about  himself. 
He  did  not  know  how  to  begin,  and  coughed  embar- 
rassedly.  He  imagined  that  Julia  was  ready  to  hear, 
and  already  he  was  grateful  for  the  regard  he  an- 
ticipated. "Don't  mind  if  I  light  a  cigar?" 

"I  should  like  it." 

"Don't  smoke  cigarettes,  do  you?  Some  of  the 
ladies  who  come  here  shedding  sweetness  and  light 
are  hard  smokers." 

Julia  shook  her  head  negatively.  "I  don't.  But 
you  surely  can't  object,  as  a  principle,  to  women 
smoking?" 

"No.  I  think  my  objections  are  chiefly — chiefly 
what  my  wife — what  Catherine  would  call  esthetic. 
I'm  not  strong  on  principles  of  any  sort.  Don't  take 
myself  seriously  enough." 

Julia  could  make  out  his  nonchalant  angular  pose 
as  he  stood  looking  down  at  her.  As  he  held  a  match 
to  his  cigar  the  glow  on  his  face  showed  his  narrow 
regular  features,  his  humorously  ridiculing  mouth, 
and  his  pale  eyes  caught  in  an  unconscious  expres- 
sion of  fright. 

Julia  said,  "I'm  afraid  you  take  yourself  very 


NARCISSUS  161 

seriously  indeed,  or  you  wouldn't  be  so  perpetually 
on  the  defensive."  Poor  Mr.  Hurst!  This  evening 
she  could  not  bear  to  be  isolated  by  conventional  re- 
serves, even  with  him.  It  flattered  her  unhappiness 
to  feel  that  he  was  a  child.  And  this  evening  it 
seemed  to  her  desperately  necessary  that  she  touch 
something  living  which  would  respond  involuntarily 
to  the  contact. 

Mr.  Hurst  was  disconcerted.  He  took  the  cigar 
out  of  his  mouth  and  examined  the  glowing  tip  which 
dilated  in  the  dark  as  he  stared  at  it.  Tears  had  all 
at  once  come  to  his  eyes.  He  wondered  if  he  were 
drunker  than  he  had  imagined.  The  moment  he 
suspected  any  one  of  a  serious  interest  in  him  it 
robbed  him  of  his  aplomb.  "Don't  read  me  too  well, 
Mrs.  Farley.  You  know  I'm  not  really  much  of  a 
person.  Coarse-fibered  American  type.  No  inter- 
ests beyond  business  and  all  that.  Good  poker 
player.  Hell  of  a  good  friend — when  you  let  him. 
But  commonplace.  Damn  commonplace.  Nothing 
worth  while  at  all  from  your  point  of  view." 

They  strolled  along  the  path  further  into  the 
shadows.  Julia  was  astonished  by  the  ill-concealed 
emotion  in  Mr.  Hurst's  humorous  voice.  His  trans- 
parency momentarily  assuaged  the  tortures  of  her 


162  NARCISSUS 

self-distrust.  "How  can  you  say  that?  My  human 
predilections  are  not  narrowed  down  to  any  par- 
ticular type,  I  hope." 

"Oh,  well,  I  know — you  and  Catherine — miles 
over  my  head,  all  of  it.  Lectures  on  the  Fourth 
Dimension.  Some  girl  with  adenoids  here  the  other 
night  been  studying  'Einstein'.  Damned  if  it  had 
done  her  any  good.  Yes,  what  that  gal  needed  was 
somebody  to  hug  her."  Julia  was  conscious  that  he 
was  turning  toward  her.  "Crass  outlook,  eh?"  He 
laughed  apologetically. 

"She  probably  did,"  Julia  said.  They  laughed 
together. 

Mr.  Hurst  felt  all  at  once  unreasoningly  depressed. 
He  wanted  to  touch  her  as  a  child  wants  to  touch  the 
person  who  pleases  it.  But  the  sophisticated  ele- 
ment in  his  nature  intervened.  He  despised  his 
own  simplicity.  "Do  you  find  yourself  getting  any- 
where in  the  pursuit  of  the  good,  the  true,  and  the 
beautiful?  Honestly  now,  Mrs.  Farley.  I've  had  the 
whole  program  shoved  at  me — not  that  Catherine 
isn't  the  best  of  women,  bless  her  little  soul.  You 
know  the  life  we  tired  business  men  lead  pretty  much 
resembles  that  of  the  good  old  steady  pack  horse 
that  does  the  work.  We  dream  about  green  pastures 


NARCISSUS  163 

and  all  that,  but  never  get  much  closer  to  it.  And 
when  you  get  to  the  end  of  things  you  begin  to  won- 
der if  your  plodding  did  anybody  any  good — if  any- 
thing ever  did  anybody  any  good.  I've  got  no  use 
for  cynicism — consider  it  damn  cheap.  Wish  some 
time  I  was  a  little  bit  more  of  a  cynic.  But  I'm 
lost.  Hopelessly  lost.  I  take  a  highball  every  now 
and  then  because  my — I  think  my  mind  hurts."  He 
halted  suddenly  and  they  were  looking  into  each 
other's  vague  faces.  "This  talk  getting  too  damn 
serious,  eh?  Something  about  you  to-night  that 
invites  a  fellow  to  make  a  fool  of  himself." 

"I  hope  not,"  Julia  said.  "I  like  you  for  talking 
frankly." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  too  damn  frank.  We  can't  afford  it 
in  this  world  of  hard  knocks.  Now  to  you,  now, 
I'm  not  saying  all  that  I'd  like  to,  by  a  jugful." 

"Then  you  don't  make  as  much  of  a  distinction  be- 
tween me  and  the  crowd  as  I  hoped." 

Charles  had  let  his  cigar  go  out.  He  kept  turn- 
ing it  over  and  over  in  his  stiff  fingers  that  she  could 
not  see.  He  felt  that  only  when  he  held  a  woman 
in  his  arms  and  she  was  robbed  of  her  conventional 
defenses  could  he  speak  openly  to  her.  With  other 
attractive  women  he  had  come  quickly  to  a  point 


1 64  NARCISSUS 

like  this  where  he  wanted  to  talk  of  his  inner  life. 
He  imagined  it  would  give  him  relief  if  he  could 
touch  Julia's  dress  and  put  his  head  in  her  lap.  The 
terrible  fear  of  revealing  himself  before  his  wife  and 
her  friends  had  stimulated  his  imagination  toward 
abandon.  When  he  was  a  child  his  mother  had  not 
loved  him.  She  was  a  defiant  person.  She  was 
ashamed  of  him  because  he  allowed  himself  to  be  vic- 
timized by  all  the  things  against  which  she  had  fu- 
tilely  rebelled.  He  had  felt  himself  despised  though 
he  had  never  understood  the  reason.  His  mother 
found  continual  fault  with  him  and  never  petted 
him.  One  day  a  girl  cousin  much  older  than  he  had 
discovered  him  in  a  corner  crying  and  had  comforted 
him,  and  had  allowed  him  to  put  his  head  in  her  lap. 
As  he  had  never  gotten  over  considering  himself 
from  a  child's  standpoint,  his  adult  visions  always 
culminated  in  a  similar  moment  of  release.  When- 
ever he  became  sentimental  about  a  woman  he  im- 
agined that  he  would  some  day  put  his  head  in  her 
lap.  He  had  been,  in  his  own  mind,  so  thoroughly 
convicted  of  weakness  that  the  development  of 
strength  no  longer  appealed  to  him  as  a  means  of 
self-fulfilment.  He  abandoned  himself  to  an  incur- 
able dependence  for  which  he  had  not  as  yet  found 


NARCISSUS  165 

a  permanent  object.  It  eased  him  when  he  could 
evoke  the  maternal  in  a  mistress.  "Aren't  we  all — 
somewhat  on  the  defensive  toward  each  other?"  he 
said  after  a  minute. 

Julia  was  reminded  again  of  what  she  thought  to 
be  her  own  tragedy.  She  felt  reckless  and  wanted 
some  one  into  whom  to  pour  herself.  She  imagined 
herself  lost  in  the  dark  garden,  crushed  between  the 
walls  and  bright  windows  of  the  houses.  In  some 
indefinable  way  she  identified  herself  with  the  mil- 
lion stars,  flashing  and  remote  in  the  black  distance 
of  the  sky  that  showed  narrowly  above  the  roofs. 
"Yes,"  she  said.  "And  so  uselessly.  People  are  so 
pathetic  in  their  determination  not  to  recognize 
what  they  are.  If  we  ever  had  the  courage  to  stop 
defending  ourselves  for  a  moment —  But  none  of 
us  have,  I'm  afraid."  She  carried  the  pity  which 
she  had  for  herself  over  to  him.  She  had  noticed 
how  thin  his  face  was,  that  the  bold  gaze  with  which 
he  looked  at  her  was  only  an  expression  of  conceal- 
ment, and  that  there  were  strained  lines  at  the  cor- 
ners of  his  good-tempered  mouth.  Yes,  in  the 
depths  of  his  pale  eyes  with  their  conscious  glint  of 
humor  there  was  undoubtedly  something  eager  and 
almost  blankly  disconcerted. 


1 66  NARCISSUS 

Charles  could  not  answer  her  at  once.  He  threw 
his  cigar  aside.  His  hand  trembled  a  little.  I  won- 
der how  drunk  I  am,  he  said  to  himself.  He  decided 
that  he  was  helpless  in  the  clutch  of  his  own  im- 
pulses. He  thought,  A  damn  fool  now  as  always. 
Have  I  got  this  woman  sized  up  wrong?  She's  a 
dear.  Here  goes.  Poor  little  thing!  Gosh,  I  know 
she  can't  be  happy  with  that  self -engrossed  ass  she's 
married  to!  In  his  more  secret  nature  he  was  proud 
of  his  own  temerity.  "Damn  it  all,  Mrs.  Farley — 
Julia — "  He  hesitated.  "I've  queered  myself  right 
off  by  calling  you  Julia,  haven't  I?"  His  laugh 
was  forced  and  unhappy.  He  glanced  over  his 
shoulder  toward  the  house. 

Julia  was  alarmed  by  the  unexpected  immanence 
of  something  she  was  trying  to  ignore.  She  kept  re- 
peating to  herself,  He's  a  child!  Her  thoughts  grew 
more  disconnected  each  instant.  She  wanted  to  go 
away,  yet  she  half  knew  that  she  was  demanding  of 
Charles  the  very  thing  that  terrified  her.  "Of  course 
not.  Mrs.  Hurst  calls  me  Julia,  why  shouldn't 
you?"  Her  tone  was  intended  to  lift  their  talk  to  a 
plane  of  unsexed  naturalness. 

"Yes,  by  George,  why  shouldn't  I !  She  calls  you 
that  a  good  deal  as  if  she  were  your  mother."  He 


NARCISSUS  167 

paused.    "Did  you  know  I'd  reached  the  ripe  old 
age  of  forty-one?"  (He  was  really  forty-two.) 

"It  doesn't  shock  me." 

"Well,  I  wish  it  did.  I  don't  like  to  be  taken  so 
damn  much  for  granted."  (He  wanted  to  tell  her 
that  Catherine  was  three  years  older  than  he,  but  his 
sense  of  fair  play  withheld  him.)  "An  old  man  of 
my  age  has  no  right  to  go  around  looking  for  some 
one  to  understand  him,  has  he?" 

"Why  not?  I'm  afraid  we  do  that  to  the  end  of 
time,  Mr.  Hurst." 

"Say,  now,  honestly,  Mrs.  Farley — Julia — I  can't 
lay  myself  wide  open  to  anybody  who  insists  on 
calling  me  Mr.  Hurst.  I  feel  as  if  I  were  a  hundred 
and  seven."  He  tried  to  ingratiate  himself  with  his 
boyishness. 

"I  haven't  any  objection  to  calling  you  Charles." 
(Julia  thought  uncomfortably  of  Mrs.  Hurst  and, 
remembering  her,  was  embarrassed.)  "Don't  feel 
hurt  if  I'm  not  able  to  do  it  at  once.  Certain 
habits  of  thought  are  very  hard  to  get  rid  of." 

"And  I  suppose  you've  been  in  the  habit  of  con- 
sidering me  in  the  sexless  antediluvian  class!" 

"You've  forgotten  that  Laurence — that  my  hus- 
band is  as  old  as  you  are." 


i68  NARCISSUS 

When  Julia  mentioned  her  husband,  Charles's  im- 
petuosity was  dampened.  It  upset  him  and  made 
him  unhappy.  However,  he  was  determined  to  sus- 
tain his  impulses.  "Yes,  I  had." 

Silence. 

Charles  wanted  to  cry.  "You  know  I  appreciate  it 
awfully  that  you  are  willing  to  enter  into  the  holy 
state  of  friendship  with  an  obvious  creature  like 
myself.  Catherine  says  you're  a  wonderful  woman, 
and  she's  a  damned  good  judge — of  her  own  kind, 
that  is." 

"I'm  afraid  she's  flattered  me.  I  wish  you  weren't 
so  humble  about  our  friendship.  I  am  as  grateful 
as  you  are  for  anything  genuine." 

"Yes,  I'm  too  confounded  humble.  I  know  I  am. 
Always  was.  You  know  I'm  not  really  lacking  in 
self-respect,  Miss  Julia." 

"Of  course  you  aren't.  You  seem  to  me  one  of 
the  most  self-respecting  people  I  know." 

Charles  was  silent  a  long  time.  He  knew  that  he 
was  being  carried  away  on  a  familiar  current.  By 
God,  she  means  it!  he  said  to  himself.  He  would 
refuse  to  regard  anything  but  the  present  moment. 
"How  does  it  happen  you  and  I  never  came  together 
like  this  before?  I'd  got  into  the  habit  of  thinking 


NARCISSUS  169 

you  were  one  of  these  icy  Dianas  that  had  an 
almighty  contempt  for  any  one  as  well  rooted  in 
Mother  Earth  as  I  am." 

Julia  laughed  uncomfortably.  "That's  a  mixed 
metaphor."  Then  she  said  seriously,  "I  want  to 
understand  things — not  to  try  to  escape.  It  seems 
to  me  we  must  all  go  back  to  Mother  Earth  if  we 
try  to  do  that."  She  added,  "I'm  afraid  we  are  mak- 
ing ourselves  delinquent.  We  mustn't  abandon  Mrs. 
Hurst  and  her  guests  altogether." 

They  turned  toward  the  veranda.  They  were 
walking  side  by  side  and  inadvertently  Charles's 
hand  brushed  Julia's.  He  caught  her  fingers.  She 
made  a  slight  gesture  of  repulsion  which  he  scarcely 
observed.  Then  her  hand  was  relinquished  to  him. 
"Confound  these  social  amenities!  I  thought  you 
were  going  to  be  my  mother-confessor,  Miss  Julia." 
Until  he  touched  her  hand  he  had  been  conscious  of 
their  human  separateness  and  his  sensuous  im- 
pulses had  been  in  abeyance.  With  the  feel  of  her 
flesh,  she  became  simply  the  woman  he  wanted  to 
kiss,  the  possessor  of  a  beautiful  throat,  and  of  mys- 
terious breasts  that  compelled  him  familiarly 
through  the  dim  folds  of  her  white  dress.  His 
acquisitive  emotion  was  savage  and  childlike.  Here 


170  NARCISSUS 

was  a  strange  thing  which  menaced  and  invited  him. 
He  wanted  to  know  it,  to  tear  it  apart  so  that  he 
need  no  longer  be  afraid  of  it.  Already  he  an- 
nihilated it  and  loved  it  for  being  subject  to  him. 
He  leaned  toward  her  and  when  she  lifted  her  face 
to  him  he  kissed  her.  He  felt  the  shudder  of  sur- 
prise that  passed  over  her.  "Julia — don't  hate  me. 
Child,  I'm  going  to  fall  in  love  with  you!  I  know 
it ! "  His  voice  was  smothered  in  her  hair.  He  kissed 
her  eyes  and  her  mouth  again.  Trembling,  Julia  was 
silent.  He  wondered  recklessly  if  she  despised  him, 
but  while  he  wondered  he  could  not  leave  her.  He 
felt  embittered  toward  her  because  she  awakened 
his  dormant  sensuality  and  he  supposed  that  women 
like  her  were  superior  to  the  necessities  that  left  him 
helpless. 

"Please!"  Julia  said.  When  his  mouth  was 
pressed  against  hers  she  was  suffocated  by  the  same 
thrill  of  astonishment  and  despair  which  she  had  ex- 
perienced when  she  first  allowed  Dudley  Allen  to 
take  her.  When  she  was  able  to  speak  she  said, 
"Oh,  we  are  so  pathetic  and  absurd — both  of  us! 
It's  so  hopelessly  meaningless." 

He  was  excited  and  elated.  In  a  broken  voice,  he 
said,  "So  you  think  I  am  pathetic  and  absurd?  I 


NARCISSUS  171 

am,  child.  I  don't  care!  I  don't  care!"  He 
thought  that  she  was  referring  to  the  general  opinion 
of  him.  He  hardened  toward  her,  while,  at  the  same 
moment,  a  wave  of  physical  tenderness  enveloped 
him.  Stealthily,  he  exulted  in  the  capacity  he  pos- 
sessed for  sexual  ruthlessness.  He  knew  she  could 
not  suspect  it.  He  would  be  honest  with  her  only 
when  it  became  impossible  for  her  to  evade  him. 

They  heard  footsteps  and  turned  from  each  other 
with  a  common  instinct  of  defense.  Mrs.  Hurst  was 
descending  the  steps  from  the  lighted  porch.  "I 
have  a  bone  to  pick  with  that  spouse  of  mine,"  she 
called  pleasantly  when  she  could  see  them.  Charles 
had  taken  out  a  fresh  cigar  and  was  lighting  a  match. 

"Hello,  hello!  Am  I  in  trouble  again?"  Charles 
fumbled  for  Julia's  hand,  and  gave  it  a  squeeze,  but 
dropped  it  as  his  wife  drew  near. 

Mrs.  Hurst's  figure  was  in  silhouette  before  them. 
"You'll  spoil  my  dinner  party,  Charles!  Julia,  child, 
I'm  afraid  you  need  reprimanding  too.  You  have 
to  be  stern  with  Charles."  Her  tone  was  truly  vexed, 
but  so  frankly  so  that  it  was  evident  she  suspected 
nothing  amiss. 

"I'm  sorry  if  I  am  in  disfavor."  Julia's  voice  was 
cold.  In  her  nihilistic  frame  of  mind  she  wished 


172  NARCISSUS 

that  her  hostess  had  discovered  the  compromising 
situation. 

Julia's  reply  was  irritating  and  Mrs.  Hurst's  dis- 
pleasure inwardly  deepened.  She  felt  stirring  in 
her  a  chronic  distrust  and  animosity  toward  other 
women,  but  would  give  no  credence  to  her  own  emo- 
tion. "Come,  child,  don't  be  ridiculous!  I  sup- 
pose I  can't  blame  Charles  for  trying  to  steal  you 
from  me.  I'm  sure  he  wanted  to  talk  to  you  about 
himself.  It's  the  one  thing  he  cannot  resist."  She 
laughed,  a  forced  pleasant  little  laugh,  and  caught 
Julia's  arm  in  a  determined  caressing  pressure. 
"Come.  We're  all  going  to  be  good.  Mr.  Vakanda 
is  waiting  to  take  you  in  to  dinner."  Julia  followed 
her  toward  the  house.  "Come,  Charles!"  Mrs. 
Hurst  commanded  him  abruptly  over  her  shoulder. 
The  manner  in  which  she  spoke  to  him  suggested 
strained  tolerance. 

Charles's  immediate  relief  at  not  having  been  seen 
was  succeeded  by  complacency.  To  deceive  his  wife 
was  for  him  to  experience  a  naive  sense  of  triumph. 
Poor  little  Kate!  He  could  even  be  sorry  for  her. 

Julia  more  than  ever  wanted  to  feel  that  Lau- 
rence's refusal  of  her  was  forcing  upon  her  a  pro- 
miscuous and  degrading  attitude  toward  sex.  She 


NARCISSUS  173 

said,  "I'm  sure  the  fault  is  mine.  I  couldn't  resist 
the  night  and  the  roses." 

"Now  don't  try  to  defend  him.  The  roses  were 
his  excuse,  not  yours."  Mrs.  Hurst  wondered  how 
they  had  been  able  to  see  anything  of  the  roses  in 
such  a  light.  She  wished  to  forget  about  it.  "Mollie 
Wilson  has  been  telling  us  how  difficult  the  role  of 
a  mother  is  these  days.  She  says  she  envies  you 
May  with  her  amenability.  Lucy  has  some  of  the 
most  startlingly  advanced  conceptions  of  what  her 
mother  should  let  her  do." 

Charles,  walking  almost  on  their  heels,  interrupted 
them.  "It  would  be  an  insult  to  Ju — to  Mrs.  Farley 
if  I  needed  an  excuse  for  carrying  her  off  for  a 
minute."  He  cleared  his  throat.  "Say,  Kate,  damn 
it  all,  will  you  and  she  be  upset  if  I  call  her  Julia? 
I  like  her  as  well  as  you  do." 

Again  Mrs.  Hurst  was  irritated  and  inexplicably 
disturbed.  It  was  Charles — not  Julia — of  course. 
Any  woman.  He's  always  like  that!  "Then  I  shall 
expect  to  begin  calling  Mr.  Farley  Laurence,"  she 
said  acidly.  She  spoke  confidentially  to  Julia.  "He 
can't  resist  them,  dear — any  of  them.  Pretty 
women.  You'll  have  to  put  up  with  his  admiration. 
All  my  nicest  friends  do." 


174  NARCISSUS 

"The  dickens  they  do!"  Charles  grumbled  jo- 
cosely. His  wife's  tone  made  him  nervous.  He  was 
suspicious  of  her. 

When  they  came  up  on  the  lighted  veranda  a  maid 
passed  them,  a  neat  good-looking  young  woman  in 
black  with  inquisitive  eyes.  Julia  caught  on  the 
servant's  face  what  seemed  an  expression  of  inquiry 
and  amusement.  Charles,  who  had  often  tried  to 
flirt  with  the  girl,  glanced  at  her  shamefacedly  and 
immediately  lowered  his  gaze.  Damn  these  women ! 
Julia,  feeling  guilty  and  antagonistic,  observed  Mrs. 
Hurst,  but  found  that  she  appeared  as  usual,  sweet 
and  negatively  self-contained,  yet  suggesting  faintly 
a  hidden  malice. 

They  walked  through  a  long  over-furnished  hall 
and  entered  the  drawing  room.  The  men  rose:  the 
Hindoo,  good-looking  but  with  a  softness  that  would 
inevitably  repel  the  Anglo-Saxon;  Mr.  Wilson,  stout 
and  jovial,  his  small  eyes  twinkling  between  creases 
of  flesh,  the  bosom  of  his  shirt  bulging  over  his  low- 
cut  vest;  Laurence,  clumsy  in  gesture,  kind,  but 
almost  insulting  in  his  composure. 

During  the  evening  Julia  could  not  bring  herself 
to  meet  Laurence's  regard,  nor  did  she  again  look 
directly  at  Mr.  Hurst.  Charles,  after  some  initial 


NARCISSUS  175 

moments  of  readjustment  when  he  found  it  difficult 
to  join  in  the  general  talk,  recovered  himself  with 
peculiar  ease.  Indeed  his  later  manner  showed  such 
pronounced  elation  that  Julia  wondered  if  it  were 
not  eliciting  some  unspoken  comment.  When  he 
turned  toward  her  she  was  aware  of  the  furtive  dar- 
ing of  his  expression,  though  she  refused  to  make 
any  acknowledgment  of  it.  He  laughed  a  great 
deal,  made  boisterous  jokes  uttered  in  the  falsetto 
voice  he  affected  when  he  was  inclined  to  comi- 
cality, and,  when  his  jests  were  turned  upon  himself, 
chuckled  immoderately  in  appreciation  of  his  own 
discomfiture.  The  Hindoo,  whose  bearing  dis- 
played extraordinary  breeding,  had  opaque  eyes  full 
of  distrust.  His  good  nature  under  Charles's  jibes 
was  assumed  with  obvious  effort  and  did  not  conceal 
his  polite  contempt.  During  dinner  and  afterward 
Charles  plied  every  one,  and  particularly  the  men, 
with  drink.  Mrs.  Hurst  had  always  been  divided 
between  the  attractions  of  the  elegance  which  de- 
manded a  fine  taste  in  wines  and  liqueurs,  and  her 
moral  aversion  to  alcohol.  She  never  served  wines 
when  she  and  Charles  were  alone,  and  to-night  she 
was  provoked  by  his  ill-bred  insistence  that  the 
glasses  of  her  guests  be  refilled. 


176  NARCISSUS 

When  the  meal  was  over  and  the  men  had  returned 
to  the  drawing  room,  Charles  seemed  to  be  in  a  state 
of  fidgets.  His  face  and  even  his  helpless-looking 
hands  were  flushed.  He  walked  about  continually, 
and  was  perpetually  smoothing  his  carefully  combed 
hair  over  the  baldish  spot  on  the  top  of  his  head. 
Mrs.  Wilson,  who  was  florid  and  coarsely  good-look- 
ing, with  her  iron-gray  hair,  admired  his  distin- 
guished figure  in  its  well-cut  clothes.  His  flattering 
manner  when  he  talked  to  her  made  her  feel  self- 
satisfied.  Julia,  though  she  had  honestly  protested 
to  Charles  that  she  did  not  smoke,  indulged  in  a 
cigarette.  Mrs.  Wilson  also  lit  one  and  expelled  the 
smoke  from  her  pursed  mouth  in  jerky  unaccus- 
tomed puffs.  Mrs.  Hurst's  dislike  of  tobacco  was 
equal  to  her  repugnance  to  alcohol.  She  refused  to 
smoke  but  was  careful  to  show  that  her  distaste  for 
cigarettes  was  a  personal  idiosyncrasy.  She  made 
little  amused  grimaces  at  the  smokers  and  treated 
them  as  if  they  were  irresponsible  children.  Mrs. 
Wilson,  in  talking  to  Mr.  Vakanda,  contrived  many 
casual  and  contemptuous  references  to  her  recent 
experiences  in  Europe.  She  was  divided  between 
her  genuine  boredom  with  European  culture  and 
her  pride  in  her  acquaintance  with  it. 


NARCISSUS  177 

Charles,  observing  Julia  in  this  group,  appreciated 
the  distinction  of  her  simpler,  more  aristocratic  man- 
ner; and  the  clarity  and  frankness  of  her  statements 
seemed  to  him  to  place  her  as  a  being  from  another 
world.  Damn  me,  she's  a  thoroughbred!  Makes 
me  ashamed  of  myself,  bless  her  soul!  His  emotions 
were  too  much  for  him.  He  went  into  his  "den," 
which  was  across  the  hall,  and  poured  himself  a 
drink.  Fragments  of  the  evening's  conversation 
buzzed  in  his  head.  Julia  and  Mr.  Wilson  had  dis- 
agreed as  to  the  validity  of  certain  phases  of 
the  newer  movements  in  art.  Mr.  Wilson  scoffed 
blatantly  at  all  of  them.  Mr.  Vakanda  was  more 
reserved,  but  one  suspected  that  he  looked  upon 
Westerners  as  adolescent  and  treated  their  art  ac- 
cordingly. Charles,  without  knowing  what  he  was 
talking  about,  had  come  jestingly  to  Julia's  rescue. 
When  he  remembered  how  often  he  had  joined  Mr. 
Wilson  in  ribald  comment  on  subjects  which  she 
treated  as  serious,  he  felt  he  had  been  a  traitor  to 
her.  Damn  my  soul,  I'm  hard  hit!  I  never  half  ap- 
preciated that  girl  until  to-night!  Don't  know  what 
the  hell's  been  the  matter  with  me!  Overcome  by 
his  reflections,  he  walked  to  a  window  and  stared 
out  into  the  quiet  dimly  lit  street.  His  suddenly 


178  NARCISSUS 

aroused  sensual  longing  for  Julia  returned  and  made 
him  embarrassed  and  unhappy.  He  set  his  glass 
down  on  the  window  ledge  and  passed  a  hand  across 
each  eye  as  if  he  "were  wiping  something  away. 
Damn  it  all,  I'm  in  love  with  her  all  right, 

WHEN  the  time  for  the  Parleys'  departure  ar- 
rived Charles  was  talkative  and  uneasy.  He 
clapped  his  hand  on  Laurence's  shoulder.  "You're 
one  of  the  few  men  who's  fit  to  fish  with,  Farley. 
Most  of  'em  are  too  damned  loud  for  the  fish.  We'll 
fix  that  little  trip  up  yet.  I  suspect  you  of  being  the 
philosopher  of  this  bunch  anyway." 

"I  can  furnish  the  requisite  of  silence,  but  I'm 
afraid  it  requires  some  peculiar  psychic  influence  to 
attract  fish.  I  haven't  got  it." 

Charles's  manner  was  self-conscious  to  a  degree. 
He  spoke  rapidly  and  unnecessarily  lifted  his  voice. 
His  wife  watched  him  with  a  cold  kind  little  smile 
of  disgust.  She  wanted  to  create  the  impression  that 
she  understood  him,  but  her  resentment  of  him 
rose  chiefly  from  the  fact  that  he  was  incomprehen- 
sible to  her.  "That's  all  right.  I'll  catch  the  fish. 
I'll  catch  the  fish.  Damned  if  I  haven't  enjoyed  the 
evening.  Say,  Farley,  Kate  and  I  are  coming  over 


NARCISSUS  179 

some  evening  and  I'm  going  to  talk  to  your  wife.  I 
believe  she's  just  plain  folks  even  if  she  can  chant 
Schopenhauer  and  the  rest  of  those  cranks.  You 
know  I  admire  your  brains,  Miss  Julia.  By  Jove,  I 
do.  You  can  give  me  some  of  the  line  of  patter  I've 
missed.  Kate,  now — Kate's  got  it  all  at  her  finger 
tips,  but  she's  given  me  up  long  ago.  Have  a  drink 
before  you  go,  Farley?  No!  You  know  I'm  a 
great  admirer  of  Omar  Khayyam's,  Miss  Julia.  The 
rest  of  you  high-brows  seem  to  have  put  the  kibosh 
on  the  old  boy.  He's  the  'fellow  that  had  some 
bowels  of  compassion  in  him.  Knew  what  it  was 
like  to  want  a  drink  and  be  dry."  Charles  smoothed 
back  his  hair.  His  hand  was  trembling  slightly. 
He  looked  at  Julia  now  and  then  but  allowed  no  one 
else  to  catch  his  eyes. 

Laurence,  holding  his  silk  hat  stiffly  in  his  fingers, 
moved  determinedly  toward  the  front  door.  His 
smile  was  enigmatic  but  his  desire  for  escape  was 
evident. 

Julia  said,  "I'll  talk  to  you  about  Schopenhauer, 
Mr.  Hurst,  and  convince  you  that  he  was  very  far 
from  a  crank."  She  smiled. 

"Yep?  Well,  guess  I'm  jealous  of  him.  I'm  will- 
ing to  be  taught.  This  business  grind  I'm  in  is  con- 


i8o  NARCISSUS 

verting  me  into  pretty  poor  company.  Not  much 
use  for  a  meditative  mind  in  the  stock  market. 
Eh,  Farley?  The  women  have  got  it  all  over  us 
when  it  comes  to  refining  life." 

Laurence  said,  "I  imagine  I  know  as  little  of  the 
stock  market  as  my  wife,  Hurst." 

"And  you  must  remember  I'm  a  business  woman, 
too." 

"So  you  are.  Working  in  that  confounded  labora- 
tory. Well,  I've  got  no  excuse  then." 

"Know  thyself,  Charles!"  Mrs.  Hurst  shook 
her  finger  playfully. 

"Yep.  Constitutional  aversion  to  knowing  my- 
self— knowing  anything  else.  Looks  to  me  as  if 
you  "had  picked  a  lemon,  Kate." 

"We  must  really  go."    Julia  held  out  her  hand. 

Mrs.  Hurst  shook  hands  with  Julia.  "So  delight- 
ful to  have  had  you.  I'm  glad  you  impressed  Mr. 
Vakanda  with  the  significance  of  America  in  the 
world  of  art,  dear."  Mrs.  Hurst,  at  that  instant, 
disliked  her  guest  intensely,  but  she  preserved  her 
smile  and  her  delicate  tactful  air.  Laurence  shook 
hands  with  her  also.  His  reserve  appealed  to  her. 
She  could  be  more  frankly  gracious  with  him. 


NARCISSUS  181 

Charles  pressed  Julia's  fingers  lingeringly,  in  spite 
of  her  efforts  to  withdraw  them.  He  was  suddenly 
depressed  and  gazed  at  her  with  an  open  almost  de- 
spairingly interrogative  expression.  "Yep,  damn 
me,  Kate's  right.  You  put  the  Far  East  in  its  place, 
Miss  Julia.  Did  me  good  to  see  it."  He  giggled 
nervously,  but  his  face  immediately  grew  serious. 
Seeing  her  go  away  into  her  own  strange  world  de- 
pleted the  confidence  he  experienced  while  with  her. 
He  was  oppressed  by  the  company  of  his  wife,  and 
his  pathetic  feeling  about  himself  returned.  For 
the  moment  the  hope  that  Julia  would  understand 
him — like  him  and  exculpate  his  deficiencies,  even 
see  in  him  that  which  was  admirable — was  more 
poignant  than  the  passing  desire  to  touch  and  dom- 
inate her  body.  There  was  a  helpless  unreserve  in 
his  eyes. 

Julia  could  see  the  tired  lines  in  his  face  all  at 
once  peculiarly  emphasized.  His  lips  quivered.  She 
thought  he  looked  old  but  for  some  reason  all  the 
more  childlike.  She  could  not  resist  his  need  for 
her. 

It  was  with  an  acute  sense  of  disgust  that  Lau- 
rence left  the  house. 


i8a  NARCISSUS 

MR.  HURST  did  not  communicate  with  Lau- 
rence in  regard  to  the  fishing  trip,  but  one 
morning  soon  after  the  dinner  party  Mrs.  Hurst 
called  Julia  on  the  telephone  and  invited  her  to  come 
;with  Laurence  to  an  all-day  picnic  in  the  country. 
"This  is  just  the  sort  of  thing  Charles  delights  in,"1 
Mrs.  Hurst  explained,  in  her  hard  pleasant  light- 
timbred  voice.  Julia  heard  her  polite  laugh  over 
the  wire.  "I  shan't  blame  you  if  you  refuse  us. 
It's  really  too  absurd.  We  shall  probably  be  con- 
sumed by  mosquitoes." 

"Why,  I'm  afraid  we  can't  go,"  Julia  said.  "Lau- 
rence is  very  busy  and  you  know  I  have  my  work, 
too." 

"I  suppose  you  can't  get  off  for  a  day — either  of 
you?  Charles  is  quite  determined  to  see  you  and 
your  husband  again." 

"It  wouldn't  be  possible.  It's  nice  of  you.  I 
really  would  enjoy  it  but  it  wouldn't  be  possible  for 
either  of  us." 

Again  Mrs.  Hurst's  confidential  amusement. 
"Well,  I'm  sorry.  Though  for  your  own  sake  I'm 
glad.  Charles  has  rather  a  boy's  idea  of  fun.  Well 
— don't  be  surprised  if  we  arrive  at  your  front  door 
some  evening  in  the  near  future." 


NARCISSUS  183 

"I  shall  be  very  glad,"  Julia  said. 

On  a  Monday  evening  while  the  Farley  family 
were  at  an  early  dinner  they  heard  a  laboring  motor 
in  the  street.  Bobby,  who  could  not  be  restrained 
when  the  prospect  of  diversion  was  at  hand,  ran  out 
to  see  what  it  was  and,  on  his  return,  reported  that 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hurst  were  at  the  front  door. 

Laurence  laid  his  napkin  wearily  aside.  "To  what 
do  we  owe  the  honor?  Have  you  been  to  see  them 
since  the  other  night?" 

Julia  said  she  had  not. 

When  Julia  arrived  in  the  hallway  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Hurst  were  already  there,  having  been  admitted  by 
Bobby.  Julia  could  not  look  at  Charles's  face. 
With  an  effort  she  smiled  at  his  wife. 

Mrs.  Hurst,  with  one  of  her  pleasant,  mildly  re- 
ducing grimaces,  said,  "How  are  you?  You  were 
dining?  There!  I  told  you  so,  Charles!" 

Julia  imagined  that  there  was  constraint  in  Mrs. 
Hurst's  manner.  Their  hands  barely  touched. 

"How  do  you  do?  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Hurst?" 
Laurence's  expression  was  polite  but  not  agreeable. 
For  some  reason  he  spoke  to  Charles  with  more 
cordiality. 

"How  d'ye  do,  Farley?    How  d'ye  do,  Miss  Julia! 


184  NARCISSUS 

Bless  my  soul,  I'm  glad  to  see  you!  Kate  couldn't 
keep  me  away  from  here.  Yes,  I  confess  it.  All  my 
fault."  He  was  uneasy  as  before,  and  adopted  the 
falsetto  tone  of  his  comic  moods.  He  wrung  Julia's 
hand  for  an  instant  and  looked  greedily  into  her 
face.  But  he  could  not  sustain  the  gaze.  He  turned 
to  Laurence  and  began  to  joke  about  the  speed  of 
his  motor  car. 

"Please  go  on  to  your  dinner.  I'm  really  ashamed 
that  I  allowed  Charles  to  bring  me  here  now."  Mrs. 
Hurst,  smiling,  preserved  the  inconsequential  atmos- 
phere of  the  group.  At  the  same  time  she  felt  a  re- 
pugnance to  Julia  which  she  had  never  experienced 
until  recently. 

Julia,  also,  disliked  the  furtive  intentness  with 
which  Mrs.  Hurst,  continuing  to  smile,  occasionally 
scrutinized  her. 

"We  dine  so  much  later." 

"But  we've  quite  finished — unless  you  will  have 
a  cup  of  coffee  with  us?" 

"Coffee?  What  say,  coffee?"  Charles  could  not 
keep  from  listening  to  what  Julia  and  his  wife  were 
saying,  though  he  was  trying,  at  the  same  time,  to 
talk  to  Laurence.  Now  he  interrupted  himself. 
"Shall  we  have  some  coffee  with  them,  Kate?"  Just 


NARCISSUS  185 

then  he  caught  Julia's  eyes  and  a  flush  spread  over 
his  face.  "I  think  we'd  better  forego  the  coffee  and 
take  these  people  for  a  little  ride.  That's  what  we 
came  for."  He  kept  on  gazing  steadily  and  senti- 
mentally at  Julia  who  was  embarrassed  by  this  too 
open  regard. 

"Shall  we?  Perhaps  we  had.  Our  own  dinner 
hour  will  come  all  too  soon/'  Mrs.  Hurst  said. 

"Won't  you  come  in  here?"  Laurence  motioned 
toward  an  open  door. 

Julia  was  vexed  by  her  own  mingled  depression 
and  agitation.  Frowning  and  smiling  at  the  same 
time,  she  added  abstractedly,  "Yes.  How  ridiculous 
we  are — standing  here  in  this  chilly  hall.  Please 
come  in  here.  I  will  have  Nellie  make  a  fire  for 
you." 

"Who  wants  a  fire  this  time  of  year!"  Charles 
followed  his  wife,  who  entered  the  half-darkened 
room  with  Julia.  "Farley,  you  and  Miss  Julia  get 
your  wraps  and  we'll  wait  for  you.  Don't  waste 
your  time  making  yourself  lovely,  Miss  Julia." 

After  Laurence  had  turned  up  the  lights  he  and 
Julia  went  out.  Charles  and  his  wife,  who  haot 
seated  themselves,  waited  in  silence.  Charles 
stretched  out  his  long  legs  in  checked  trousers  and 


186  NARCISSUS 

crossed  them  over  one  another.  He  stared  up  at 
the  ceiling  and  pursed  his  mouth  in  a  soundless 
whistle. 

Catherine  said,  "We  can't  stay  with  these  people 
long.  You  know  the  Goodes  are  coming  over  after 
dinner." 

Charles  started.  "What's  that?"  He  sat  bolt  up- 
right. "Goodes,  eh?  No.  All  right.  Plenty  of 
time."  He  did  not  relax  his  posture  again,  but 
drummed  on  the  arm  of  his  chair,  tapped  his  feet, 
and  for  a  few  moments  half  hid  his  face  in  the  cupped 
palm  of  his  hand. 

Mrs.  Hurst  looked  bored  and  tired.  Her  small 
sardonic  mouth  was  very  precisely  set.  Her  gaze 
was  both  humorous  and  weary.  Now  and  then  she 
glanced  at  Charles  and  forced  a  twinkle  to  her  eyes, 
while,  at  the  same  moment,  her  features  showed  her 
repressed  irritation.  Mrs.  Hurst  had  suspected, 
after  the  previous  meeting  with  the  Parleys,  that 
Charles  was  interested  in  Julia.  Suspicion  sharp- 
ened her  observation  of  him  but  her  policy  toward 
him  demanded  of  her  that  she  be  amused  by  all  he 
did.  Otherwise  the  situation  between  them  might 
long  ago  have  precipitated  a  crisis  which  she,  at 
least,  was  not  ready  to  face.  In  a  moment  of  im- 


NARCISSUS  187 

petuosity  Charles  would  be  capable  of  heaven- 
knows-what  regrettable  and  irretrievable  resolution. 
He  had  so  often  shown  the  same  kind  of  frank  ad- 
miration for  a  pretty  woman  that  she  made  the  best 
of  things  by  appearing  to  tolerate,  if  not  to  encour- 
age, his  folly.  She  was  certain  that  his  infatuations 
were  so  illusory  that  a  little  enforced  acquaintance 
with  the  intimate  personalities  of  her  successive  ri- 
vals would  dissipate  his  regard  for  them.  In  this, 
case,  too,  she  had  no  fear  that  a  woman  of  Julia's 
poise  and  enlightenment  would  make  any  serious  re- 
sponse to  Charles's  naive  overtures.  If  Mrs.  Hurst 
could  convince  herself  that  a  situation  was  suffi- 
ciently grotesque  (viewed,  of  course,  from  the  stand- 
point of  manners)  it  became  unreal  to  her,  and  she 
could  no  longer  believe  that  such  a  vague  and  ridicu- 
lous cause  would  produce  any  effect  in  actuality. 

Waiting  for  Laurence  and  Julia  to  appear, 
Charles,  even  when  he  was  not  looking  at  her,  was 
conscious  of  his  wife's  personality.  Though  he 
could  not  analyze  the  impression,  he  was,  as  he  had 
been  repeatedly  before,  disconcerted  by  the  cold  un- 
derstanding which  he  saw  in  her  small,  humorously 
lined  face.  He  was  startled  by  the  boldness  of  her 
evasions.  All  his  mental  attempts  to  capture  a 


i88  NARCISSUS 

grievance  were  diverted  when  he  considered  her  de- 
mure gentleness  and  good  breeding.  He  had,  at  the 
outset,  to  accept  the  fact  of  his  inferiority.  Now 
his  pale  eyes,  fixed  intermittently  in  an  upward  gaze, 
were  startled  and  perturbed.  His  mouth  twitched. 
He  felt  boisterous,  and  suppressed  his  laughter, 
though  he  did  not  know  whether  he  should  direct  it 
against  her  or  against  himself.  She  was  so  visually 
real  to  him:  her  withered  small  hands,  the  flesh  un- 
der her  plump  throat — flesh  that  fell  away  and 
somehow  failed  to  soften  the  contour  of  her  little 
chin.  At  these  moments  when  she  connived,  or  so 
it  might  almost  seem,  to  further  his  betrayal  of  her 
he  felt  a  sentimental  affection  for  her,  and  decided 
that  it  was  only  because  of  the  physical  repulsion 
which  her  ageing  gave  him  that  he  did  not  love  her 
completely  and  lead  an  ideal  life.  He  was  sorry  for 
himself  and  for  her  too  because  he  could  not  con- 
quer his  aversion. 

Catherine  said,  "Julia  is  particularly  handsome 
to-night." 

Charles,  with  the  blank  innocence  of  a  self-con- 
scious child,  glanced  at  his  wife.  "You're  right. 
She  is.  You  dare  me  to  fall  in  love  with  her,  do 
you?  Think  when  she  gets  a  good  dose  of  me — " 


NARCISSUS  189 

"Sh-h!" 

Charles  eyed  the  door.  "Somebody  'ull  hear  me? 
Say,  Kate,  for  a  manhandler  IVe  never  seen  your 
equal."  He  jumped  up,  walked  twice  around  the 
room,  and  stopped,  gazing  down  at  Catherine  with 
a  vacant  deliberate  amusement.  Each  felt  the  other 
the  victor  in  some  stealthy  unconfessed  combat. 
"All  the  spice  goes  out  of  forbidden  fruit  when  your 
wife  hands  it  to  you  on  a  gold  platter  with  her  com- 
pliments. That  it?"  Charles  asked.  He  was  won- 
dering if  his  presentment  about  Julia  as  the  great 
thing  in  his  life  had  been  an  illusion.  He  would  ac- 
cept his  wife's  joke  recklessly  but  that  did  not  pre- 
vent his  timidity  in  regard  to  himself  from  return- 
ing and  influencing  his  acts. 

JULIA  sat  beside  Charles  while  he  drove.  Lau- 
rence and  Mrs.  Hurst  were  on  the  back  seat. 
Julia  listened  to  what  Charles  said,  but  half  under- 
standing him.  Nothing  was  real  to  her  but  the  self 
from  which  she  wanted  to  escape,  this  self  which  she 
knew  would  always  deceive  her.  When  the  car 
veered  at  a  corner  Charles  and  she  were  thrown  to- 
gether so  that  their  shoulders  touched.  She  knew 
that  he  leaned  toward  her  to  prolong  the  contact. 


190  NARCISSUS 

The  warmth  of  his  body  gave  her  no  clear  conscious- 
ness of  him,  and  was  a  sustained  reminder  of  in- 
scrutable things  with  which  he  was  not  concerned. 
She  despised  the  humility  of  his  intellect.  What  at- 
tracted her  was  a  kind  of  primitive  cruelty  which  he 
tried  to  hide.  She  wanted  to  be  consumed  by  his 
weakness,  to  be  left  nothing  of  herself.  His  love- 
making  repelled  her.  She  perceived  his  sentimen- 
tality toward  womankind.  All  that  he  said  was 
false  because  unrelated  to  his  fundamental  impulse 
which  was  to  take  without  giving  anything  equiva- 
lent. She  had  somehow  arrived  at  the  conviction 
that  only  the  things  which  hurt  her  were  true. 
Charles's  conception  of  beauty  was  childish.  But 
she  would  not  be  afraid  to  abandon  herself  to  the 
things  in  him  he  was  ashamed  of,  which  he  could 
not  control.  When  he  was  conquered,  as  she  was, 
by  the  desires  his  intellect  sought  to  evade,  he  would 
be  caught  in  actuality.  Neither  of  them  could  be 
deceived.  She  was  impatient  with  Charles's  defer- 
ence to  what  he  considered  her  finer  feelings.  There' 
she  found  herself  insulted  by  the  shallowness  of  his 
respect. 

Charles  made  the  drive  as  long  as  he  could,  though 
he  knew  that  his  wife,  with  her  prospect  of  guests 


NARCISSUS  191 

at  home,  must  be  growing  impatient.  He  kept,  for 
the  most  part,  in  the  park  where  it  was  easier  to  im- 
agine that  he  and  Julia  were  alone.  In  one  place  a 
hill  cut  off  the  city  and  dry  grass  rushed  up  before 
them  against  the  cloudy  sunset.  Then  there  were 
masses  of  trees,  green  yet  in  the  half  darkness.  The 
branches  stirred  their  blackish  foliage,  and  the  copse 
had  a  breathing  look.  The  last  light  broke  through 
the  shadowy  clouds  in  metallic  flames.  When  the 
city  came  into  view  again  Julia  thought  that  the  tall 
houses  were  like  the  walls  of  a  garden  flowering 
with  stars. 

Every  one  but  Charles  was  glad  when  the  drive 
came  to  an  end. 

UNDER  her  large  black  hat  the  strange  girl's 
eyes,  deep  with  a  shining  emptiness,  gazed  into 
Paul's.  Paul,  glancing  at  her  cautiously,  felt  that 
the  eyes  were  filled  with  a  velvet  dust  into  which  he 
sank  without  finding  anything.  It  was  as  if  he  were 
falling,  leaden  and  meaningless,  through  them. 

She  had  a  snub  nose  with  coarse  wide  nostrils. 
Her  mouth  was  thick-lipped  and  over  red.  She  was 
given  to  abrupt  hilarity  when  she  showed  her  strong 
teeth  in  a  peculiarly  irrelevant  laugh.  Her  voice 


192  NARCISSUS 

was  hoarse.  When  she  threw  back  her  head  her 
amusement  made  her  broad  white  throat  quiver. 
Then  her  prominent  breasts  shook  heavily.  Her 
arms,  bare  below  the  elbow,  looked  as  though  they 
were  meant  to  be  powerful  but  had  grown  useless. 
Her  insolence  was  stupid,  but  Paul  envied  it — even 
though  it  irritated  him  that  she  was  so  bored  with 
him.  They  had  sat  on  the  same  bench  in  a  public 
square,  and  after  they  had  fallen  into  conversation 
he  had  asked  her  to  go  to  dinner  with  him.  Her 
name  was  Carrie.  She  called  him  "son".  She  was 
"out  for  a  good  time,"  she  said,  but  she  was 
"broke". 

Paul  invited  her  to  the  working  men's  restaurant 
where  he  was  going  himself.  To  dramatize  his  iso- 
lation from  his  own  group,  he  wore  old  clothes,  bro- 
gans,  and  his  school  cap.  His  appearance  suggested 
a  mechanic's  assistant.  He  was  ashamed  of  his  se- 
cret desire  to  admit  his  disguise  to  her.  His  uncle 
was  a  corporation  lawyer  who  was  becoming  promi- 
nent. Paul  had  constantly  to  fight  against  an  in- 
grained class  vanity.  Petty  bourgeois!  Not  even 
snobbishness  of  the  first  order!  When  he  had  to 
face  it  in  himself  he  wanted  to  die.  No  use!  Hell 
of  a  world!  Any  disillusionment  with  himself 


NARCISSUS  193 

strengthened  his  bitterness  toward  those  of  his  own 
kind. 

TT  THEN  Paul  left  Carrie  he  walked  into  the 
VV  dark  park  and  seated  himself  on  a  bench. 
The  city  seemed  miles  away,  sunk  in  light.  There 
was  an  iron  stillness  in  the  black  trunks  of  the  trees 
that  rose  about  him.  Over  him  the  thick  foliage 
hung  oppressively  in  dark  arrested  clouds. 

Despair.  He  wanted  Carrie  to  admire  him.  He 
saw  himself  strong  and  bitter  in  the  possession  of 
all  that  Carries  understand.  He  wanted  to  be  kind. 
He  was  a  great  man,  alone,  a  little  proud  of  his 
madness.  Child!  He  wanted  to  go  far  away — 
to  die.  Hate.  I  can't  die!  His  heart  beat  loudly 
and  the  memory  of  Carrie  was  remote  again. 

In  the  hidden  street  Salvationists  were  passing. 
He  heard  hymn  tunes  and  the  beat  of  drums. 

Dark  angel.  I  want  to  save  men.  He  thought 
of  the  women,  strange  in  their  tight  dark  dresses. 
He  wanted  to  save  them.  Emotionalism.  Rot.  He 
tried  to  remember  the  working  class  and  economic 
determinism.  Facts.  They  kept  things  out.  There 
was  a  dramatic  pride  in  being  outcast,  in  feeling 
himself  definitely  against  his  aunt  and  Uncle 


194  NARCISSUS 

Archie.  That  kid,  May.  Dead.  He  gave  himself 
to  a  sense  of  loathing  that  was  gorgeous  and  abso- 
lute. His  relaxation  was  drunken — like  a  dream. 
Once  more,  when  he  could  not  but  remember 
May,  he  recalled  Julia  instead.  He  did  not  explain 
to  himself  why  he  hated  her  so.  It  was  as  though 
she  had  done  the  world  some  terrible  hurt  and  his 
was  the  arrogance  of  justice  in  leaving  to  her  noth- 
ing of  the  self  she  wanted  him  to  believe  in.  When- 
ever he  saw  falseness  in  women,  he  felt  that  he  was 
seeing  Julia  at  last.  He  wanted  his  thoughts  to 
destroy  her,  or  at  least  to  leave  her  utterly  beg- 
gared. He  must  prove  to  himself  that  it  was  women 
like  Julia,  women  of  the  upper  classes,  that  he 
had  to  fight.  He  could  no  longer  bear  the  recollec- 
tion of  May  going  before  him  through  the  park  in 
her  short  dress  with  her  hair  a  silver  paleness  over 
her  shoulders.  Because  of  Julia,  everything 
wounded  him.  He  conceived  a  physical  image  of 
Julia  in  her  ultimate  day  of  degradation.  When 
he  thought  of  stripping  everything  away  from  her, 
it  was  to  show  a  physical  ugliness  to  a  deceived 
world.  In  anticipation  he  purged  his  own  soul  of 
all  that  horrified  and  confused  it.  Then  he  saw 
her  body — that  he  had  never  seen — lie  before  him 


NARCISSUS  195 

like  a  beaten  thing  with  used  maternal  breasts,  and 
knew  that  he  had  destroyed  forever  the  virginal 
falsehood  of  her  face.  No  woman  who  belonged  to 
a  man  as  Julia  belonged  to  Laurence  had  the  right 
to  a  face  like  hers.  He  despised  his  aunt,  but  she 
was  frankly  a  part  of  the  hideousness  of  sex  and 
his  contempt  for  her  was  negative.  Toward  Julia 
he  was  positive,  for  he  felt  that  when  he  had  proved 
everything  against  her  he  would  not  be  burdened 
with  May.  When  he  imagined  Julia  lean  and  hid- 
eous of  body,  the  sense  of  intimacy  with  her  made 
him  gentle.  He  was  strong  and  liberated. 

However,  when  actuality  presented  itself,  and  he 
realized  that  if  he  met  her  she  would  be  as  he  had 
always  known  her,  kind  and  a  little  motherly  to- 
ward him,  his  heart  grew  sullen,  and,  again,  he  was 
helplessly  convicted  of  his  youth.  His  defiance  was 
so  acute  that  he  wanted  to  write  her  an  obscene 
letter  and  tell  her  of  what  he  had  done  and  the 
women  he  knew.  But  he  was  trapped,  as  always, 
in  the  fear  of  appearing  ridiculous. 

It  was  difficult  for  him  to  justify  his  certainty 
that  she  was  so  much  in  need  of  the  cleansing  fire 
of  truth;  yet  he  would  not  abandon  his  conviction. 
When  he  had  not  dared  to  hate  her  he  had  been 


196  NARCISSUS 

at  loss  before  her.  Now  his  hate  permitted  his 
imagination  complete  and  unafraid  abandon.  He 
dared  to  relax  in  the  intimacy  of  dislike  because 
he  fancied  that  he  saw  her  clearly  at  last. 

At  times  his  hate  grew  too  heavy  for  him,  and 
he  could  have  cried  for  relief  in  admitting  his  child- 
ishness to  some  one.  He  was  shut  into  himself  by 
that  horrible  laugh  which  surrounded  him,  which 
he  seemed  to  hear  from  all  sides. 

IT  was  a  cool  afternoon  in  September.  May 
walked  through  the  park  between  rows  of  flower- 
ing shrubs.  Here  the  grass  had  died  and  the  petals 
of  fallen  blossoms  were  shriveled  ivory  on  the  black 
loam.  Overhead  the  treetops  swung  with  a  rotary 
motion  against  the  rain-choked  heavens.  The  heat 
of  the  clouds  gathered  in  a  blank  stain  of  brilliance 
where  the  swollen  sun  half  burst  from  its  swathings 
of  mist.  The  wind  ceased  for  a  moment.  A  clump 
of  still  pine  tops  glinted  with  a  black  fire,  and  be- 
hind them  the  sun  became  a  chasm  of  glowing  empti- 
ness, like  a  hole  in  the  sky,  from  which  the  glare 
poured  itself  in  a  diffusing  torrent. 

For  a  long  time  May  had  not  dared  to  walk  in 
the  park.  When  she  did  go,  at  last,  she  told  herself 


NARCISSUS  197 

that  she  was  sure  Paul  would  not  come.  She  felt 
herself  inwardly  lost  in  still  bright  emptiness.  Cold 
far-off  heat.  She  was  a  tiny  frozen  speck,  hardly 
conscious  of  itself  on  the  burnt  grass,  walking  to- 
ward the  tall  buildings  that  receded  before  her. 
Tall  roofs  were  like  iron  clouds  in  the  low  sky.  She 
wanted  to  be  lost,  going  farther  and  farther  into 
emptiness.  Now  when  she  said  Paul  it  was  no 
longer  Paul  she  meant.  She  would  have  been 
ashamed  before  him,  tall,  looking  down  at  her. 
Paul  was  something  else,  something  in  which  one 
went  out  of  one's  self  into  infinite  distance.  Where 
one  went  forever,  never  afraid.  Where  one  ceased 
to  be. 

She  passed  women  and  children.  A  child  stum- 
bled uncertainly  toward  her,  jam  on  its  face,  its 
dress  torn.  May  was  conscious  of  a  part  of  herself 
left  behind  that  could  see  the  child  running  to  its 
mother,  the  white  dress  brilliant,  fluttering  victori- 
ous. She  knew  how  her  own  hair  blew  out  in  sepa- 
rate strands  from  the  loosened  ends  of  her  braid, 
and  how  soft  separate  strands  clung  drily  against 
her  moist  brow  under  her  red  cap.  Going  out  of 
herself,  it  was  as  if  her  blood  flowed  coldly  out  of 
her  into  the  cold  sunlight,  cold  and  away  from  her 


198  NARCISSUS 

body.  She  was  happy.  There  were  tears  in  her 
eyes.  She  wanted  to  go  on  forever  saying  Paul 
and  not  thinking  what  it  meant. 

The  sun  went  out  of  sight.  The  wind  lifted  the 
pine  boughs  and  they  moved  as  if  in  terror  against 
the  torn  clouds.  The  sound  that  went  through  them 
died  away  in  peace,  in  the  happiness  of  being  lost. 
May  felt  as  if  something  of  her  had  gone  forever 
into  the  wide  still  sky  and  the  dead  shadowless 
park.  She  wanted  to  feel,  not  to  think.  When  she 
thought,  she  was  caught  in  her  body  as  in  a  net. 
The  separate  parts  of  her  were  like  pains  where 
she  thought  Aunt  Julia  would  loathe  her. 

T  T  THEN  Laurence  was  apart  from  Julia  and  re- 
V  V  membered  her  look  of  humility  that  asked 
for  something  she  dared  not  state,  he  experienced 
an  almost  sickening  pity  for  her.  There  was  some- 
thing in  her  suffering  which  he  identified  with  his 
own.  Yet  he  did  not  feel  nearer  to  her  in  attributing 
their  unhappiness  in  common  to  the  futile  and  in- 
evitable circumstances  of  human  life.  The  pain 
of  each  of  them,  he  told  himself,  was  in  realizing 
the  isolation  in  which  every  human  ultimately  finds 
himself  when  he  recognizes  that  his  inner  life  can- 


NARCISSUS  199 

not  be  shared.  Laurence  somehow  exulted  in  seeing 
Julia  forced  to  accept  a  condition  of  existence  which 
had  been  plain  to  him  for  a  long  time.  His  despair 
was  so  complete  that  he  imagined  himself  ready 
to  abandon  his  defenses  before  her.  But  when  he 
was  actually  in  her  presence  she  was  only  the  thing 
that  hurt  him,  and  he  was  against  her  in  spite  of 
himself.  Then  her  cruelty  seemed  monstrous,  be- 
cause she  appeared  to  understand  so  little  of  what 
she  had  done.  He  knew  that  he  bewildered  her  by 
showing  no  resentment  toward  Dudley  Allen.  Laur- 
ence despised  her  when  she  could  not  see  the  work- 
ing of  his  pride  that  forced  him  to  be  superior 
to  her  lover's  influence. 

Often  he  said  to  himself,  I'll  go  away.  I  can't 
bear  it!  But,  while  he  believed  in  nothing  outside 
himself,  what  was  there  to  seek?  He  visited  his 
parents  more  frequently.  To  be  with  them  was 
a  fulfilment  of  his  humiliation.  He  would  end 
where  he  was  born,  as  every  one  else  did. 

Though  he  was  certain  that  everything  which 
developed  through  initiative  was  foredoomed  to  fail- 
ure, his  pride  in  Bobby  increased.  He  wanted  to 
keep  his  pessimism  from  contaminating  his  son. 
Bobby  knew  his  power.  When  he  encountered  his 


200  NARCISSUS 

father  coming  in  from  the  laboratory  alone  it  was 
a  time  to  make  a  demand.  "Hello,  Dad!  Say, 
Dad,  am  I  too  much  of  a  kid  to  run  a  motor  cycle? 
Jack  Wilson  says  I  can't  run  his  motor  cycle  because 
I'm  too  much  of  a  kid!  Say,  Dad,  I've  got  some 
money  saved  up.  Can't  I  buy  me  a  motor  cycle? 
I  can  run  it.  Honest,  I  can!"  He  had  been  play- 
ing in  the  street,  his  face  dirty  and  smeared  with 
sweat,  his  shirt  torn  in  front,  and  his  collar  askew. 
His  look  was  rapt  and  self-intent.  He  had  the 
air  of  pushing  his  father  aside  to  reach  some  nidden 
determination. 

Laurence  was  self-conscious  when  talking  to 
Bobby.  He  lowered  his  lids  to  conceal  the  too 
lenient  expression  of  his  eyes.  "You're  not  an  ex- 
perienced mechanic,  you  know.  Only  have  one  life 
to  lose.  Better  wait  a  while  before  you  risk  it." 

Bobby  stared  with  an  intentness  that  obliterated 
his  father's  pretense.  "Aw,  say,  Dad,  honest,  now! 
I've  taken  Jack  Wilson's  machine  to  pieces.  I  can 
run  a  motor  cycle  all  right.  Go  on  and  say  I  can 
get  it!" 

Laurence  glanced  up,  and  his  smile  was  hard 
and  cautious,  but  when  his  face  was  averted  his 
features  softened  immediately.  "We'll  see,  son.  I 


NARCISSUS  201 

don't  think  a  brat  like  you  could  get  a  license. 
Time  to  talk  about  it  later."  He  put  his  hat  on  a 
hook  and,  turning  aside,  began  to  mount  the 
stairs. 

Bobby,  vexed  and  excited,  gazed  after  his  father, 
regarding  Laurence's  hesitation  as  an  annoying  but 
inevitable  formula  which  had  to  be  gone  through 
before  one  could  get  what  one  wanted.  "Oh,  gol 
darn  it!"  he  said,  and  ran  out  into  the  street  again. 
He  tolerated  his  father. 

Laurence  wished  that  he  had  sent  May  away  with 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Price,  the  parents  of  his  first  wife. 
They  had  recently  gone  on  a  trip  to  Europe.  When 
they  had  asked  to  take  Bobby  with  them,  Laurence 
had  resented  it. 

Julia  met  Laurence  in  the  upper  hall.  "Did  you 
tell  Bobby  to  come  in  and  dress  for  dinner?  Isn't 
he  a  ragamuffin!"  She  smiled,  imagining  that  her 
pleasure  in  Bobby  pleased  her  husband. 

Laurence  smiled  also,  but  coldly.  He  would  have 
preferred  to  ignore  her  relationship  to  Bobby.  It 
had  come  over  him  strongly  of  late  that  he  must 
take  Bobby  away  from  the  home  environment. 
"I'm  afraid  I  encourage  him  in  the  spontaneity  of 
bad  manners."  He  walked  past  her  with  an  agree- 


202  NARCISSUS 

able  but  remote  expression  that  put  her  away  from 
him. 

Julia  experienced  a  familiar  pang  which  contracted 
her  breast  with  an  almost  physical  surprise.  It  was 
as  if  a  touch  had  made  her  guilty.  Why,  she  could 
not  say.  He  doesn't  want  me  to  show  an  interest 
in  Bobby!  She  was  robbed  of  another — almost  her 
last — certainty. 

At  dinner  she  watched  the  father  and  son  stealth- 
ily. Their  attitude  toward  each  other  seemed  to 
confirm  her  unknown  guilt. 

"I've  sent  off  your  first  quarter's  tuition  at  Mount 
Harrod,  young  man.  You  haven't  much  time  left 
with  us." 

Bobby  was  secretly  resigned  but  confident  in  his 
petulance.  "Gee,  Dad,  I  don't  want  to  go  to  that 
place!" 

"It's  about  time  you  began  your  initiation  in  the 
subtler  forms  of  self-defense,"  Laurence  said  sar- 
donically. 

May,  ignored  by  everybody,  sat  very  straight  in 
her  chair  and  was  over  dainty  with  her  food,  as 
if  timid  of  her  enjoyment  of  it.  Julia,  withdrawing 
all  attempt  at  contact  with  Laurence  and  Bobby, 
could  not  bear  to  look  at  the  girl. 


NARCISSUS  203 

Laurence  was  uncomfortably  admitting  to  him- 
self that,  in  some  subtle  way,  his  desire  to  have 
Bobby  out  of  the  house  was  directed  by  a  feeling 
against  Julia.  He  wondered  how  much  of  his  mo- 
tive she  had  perceived.  The  sooner  he  gets  away 
from  the  hoax  of  home,  the  better,  Laurence  told 
himself.  He  tried  to  exculpate  himself  by  a  gen- 
eralization. It  was  the  false  ideal  he  wanted  to  de- 
stroy for  Bobby.  Julia  was  a  part  of  the  myth, 
though  she  had  not  created  it. 

JULIA  was  wounded  without  knowing  just  what 
her  wound  was.  She  said  to  herself,  unex- 
pectedly, If  I  had  a  child!  My  God,  if  I  had  a 
child!  The  thought,  which  had  been  strange  to  her 
for  a  long  time,  seemed  to  illumine  all  of  her  being. 
It  was  as  if  something  warm  and  secret  were  already 
her  own.  She  was  on  the  point  of  weeping  with 
terror  of  her  longing  for  the  child  that  did  not  exist. 
It  was  something  she  wanted  to  take  away  to  herself 
which  no  one  else  should  know  of.  She  considered 
how  she  might  get  herself  with  child  without  any 
one  becoming  aware  of  it.  She  wanted  a  child  that 
would  be  helpless  with  her,  that  she  could  give 
everything  to. 


204  NARCISSUS 

But  she  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  definite 
responsibilities  connected  with  a  child.  It  was  wrong 
to  want  a  child  like  that.  It  was  like  robbing  a 
thing  of  its  life  to  want  it  so  completely.  It  had 
a  right  to  itself.  She  felt  virtuously  bereaved  al- 
ready, as  if  the  child  that  had  never  been  born  had 
grown  to  manhood  and  she  had  given  it  up. 

There  was  no  peace  except  in  the  abnegation  of 
all  positive  desire.  She  invited  the  peace  of  help- 
lessness. When  her  emotions  were  formless  she 
felt  immense  and  lost  in  a  waking  sleep.  The  whole 
world  was  her  own  dream.  She  could  feel  her  physi- 
cal life  fade  out  of  her  and  imagined  that  her  hair 
was  growing  white. 


HURST  had  not  been  so  happy  for 
a  long  time.  To  evoke  one  of  his  moods  of 
glowing  pathos,  he  had  only  to  gaze  at  himself  in 
a  mirror  and  think  of  Julia.  She  had  committed 
herself  but  very  little,  yet  he  was  mystical  in  his 
certainty  of  their  future  relationship.  When  he 
recalled  the  way  she  looked  at  him  as  if  asking 
him  not  to  hurt  her  too  much  he  was  confirmed 
in  his  belief  that  she  had  laid  aside  the  subterfuges 
of  more  commonplace  and  less  courageous  women. 


NARCISSUS  205 

"Damned  if  I  look  as  young  as  I  did!"  He  studied 
his  reflection  ruefully.  He  had  a  hazy  perception 
of  his  outward  defects  and  regretted  them.  "Grow- 
ing old's  hell  all  right!  Poor  little  Kate!"  He  was 
ashamed  of  the  comfort  of  seeming  less  his  age  than 
she.  His  sense  of  advantage  made  him  tenderly 
apologetic.  When  he  was  near  her  he  wanted  to 
pet  her.  "Rum  deal  women  get.  Life  after  forty- 
five  not  worth  much."  He  almost  wished  it  possible 
for  her  to  console  herself  as  he  did,  but  he  could 
not  quite  bring  himself  to  accept  the  logic  of  his 
imagining.  Catherine  with  a  lover!  Women  not  the 

same  as  we  are.    Men  are  a  lot  of donkeys. 

Pity  the  girl  never  had  a  kid. 

His  pale  eyes  grew  grave  and  retrospective  again, 
and  he  seated  himself  on  the  edge  of  his  bed  just 
as  he  was,  in  socks  and  trousers  and  undershirt, 
burying  his  face  in  his  curiously  formless  hands. 
"By  God,  I  love  that  girl!"  He  threw  his  head 
up  and  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  a  shivering  mo- 
tion, as  if  what  he  felt  were  almost  too  much  for 
him.  "She  may  think  I'm  a  senile  idiot  and  a  damn 
fool — all  the  things  Catherine  does."  He  smiled, 
talking  aloud.  "But  she  loves  me!  She  loves  me! 
By  God,  she  loves  me!  She's  got  to!"  He  ended 


206  NARCISSUS 

on  a  playfully  emphatic  note  as  though  he  were 
disposing  of  an  invisible  argumentator.  When  he 
went  into  his  bathroom  to  shave  he  whistled  Mu- 
setta's  Waltz  from  La  Boheme.  There  was  an  ex- 
pression of  innocent  complacency  on  his  thin  good- 
humored  face.  For  a  time  he  was  absorbed  in  his 
music  and  his  sense  of  completeness  and  well-being. 

Julia  Farley.  Too  good.  That  Goode  family. 
Bills.  Fellow  runs  a  car  like —  Fast.  Fast 
women.  I  hold  her  fast.  I — 

When  his  jumbled  thoughts  had  proceeded  to 
I-hold-her-fast,  something  welled  up  as  if  from  the 
depths  of  him,  and  he  was  physically  blinded  by  the 
dim  intensity  of  his  emotion.  He  frowned  pain- 
fully. He  began  to  speak  aloud  again.  "Too  much, 
Charles,  my  boy.  Too  old  for  this  kind  of  thing. 
Damn!  She's  too  good — too  lovely — " 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  Johnson,  Mr. 
Hurst's  man,  was  never  allowed  in  the  room  while 
his  master  was  dressing,  since  Charles  was  frankly 
embarrassed  by  the  presence  of  a  valet. 

"Hello!     Hello,  Johnson." 

"Telephone,  sir.  Mrs.  Hurst  wanted  me  to  ask 
if  you'd  like  to  come,  or  if  I  was  to  tell  them  to 
call  later." 


NARCISSUS  207 

Julia!    The  mad  hope  that  it  was  Julia. 

"It's  Mr.  Goode,  sir.  He  says  he  can't  give  me 
the  message." 

God,  but  I'm  ridiculous!  "Mr.  Goode,  eh?'r 
Charles,  very  abstracted,  buttoned  on  his  shirt. 
"Well,  you  tell  Goode  I'll  call  him  later,  Johnson." 
As  Johnson,  assenting  in  his  delicately  servile  man- 
ner, was  turning  away,  Charles  beckoned  him  back. 
"Eh,  Johnson,  just  between  you  and  me,  while  the 
madam  isn't  looking.  Suppose  you  bring  me  up — 
just  a  little,  you  know — Old  Scotch.  God  damn 
this  collar  button!" 

Johnson,  who  was  a  blond  young  man  with  a  wise 
subdued  air,  smiled  a  little.  Finding  it  flattered 
his  employers,  he  had  cultivated  the  sad  manner 
of  a  professional  mourner.  "Very  good,  sir." 

As  Johnson  disappeared,  Charles's  ruminations 
broke  forth  afresh.  "  'Very  good,  sir!'  Damn  little 
son-of-a-gun!  He'd  do  well  in  a  play.  Got  a  fine 
contempt  for  the  old  man,  Johnson  has.  Yep,  by 
God,  Catherine  has  got  me  on  breeding.  Servants 
never  bat  an  eye  at  her.  Might  have  been  born 
with  a  gold  spoon  in  her  mouth.  Well,  she's  a  pink- 
face  and  the  old  boy's  a  rough-neck.  Tra-la-la — " 
He  resumed  Musetta's  Waltz. 


208  NARCISSUS 

"That  Blanche— that  damned  little  hyper-sexed, 
hyper-sophisticated,  hyper-everything —  By  Jove, 
she'd  pinch  the  gold  plate  out  of  a  mummy's  tooth!" 
When  Charles  talked  he  allowed  his  voice  gradually 
to  mount  the  scales  until  it  broke  on  a  falsetto 
note.  It  was  part  of  the  horseplay  with  which  his 
dramatic  sense  responded,  in  self-derision,  to  the 
attitude  of  those  about  him.  Catherine  insisted  on 
his  occasional  attendance  at  the  opera,  and  Pag- 
liacci,  which  he  heard  first,  was  his  favorite  piece. 
He  identified  himself  with  the  title  part,  though  it 
was  a  little  confusing  for  him  to  imagine  himself 
a  deceived  husband.  He  felt  that  the  author  of 
the  libretto  had  confused  the  issue.  "Blanche,  by 
God,  that  Blanche ! "  He  referred  to  a  young  woman 
who  took  minor  parts  in  cinema  plays.  He  wanted 
to  be  rid  of  her.  She  was  statuesque  and  theatric, 
but  as  his  intimacy  with  her  had  grown  she  had  re- 
lapsed into  habitual  vulgarities  which  grated  on 
him.  Charles  revered  a  lady.  Besides,  since  be- 
coming interested  in  Julia  he  wanted  to  forget  every- 
thing else.  Blanche  was  realizing  that  she  had 
destroyed  an  illusion  through  which  she  might  have 
furthered  her  ambition,  and  she  was  growing  reck- 
lessly spiteful  and  crude.  Only  the  day  before 


NARCISSUS  209 

Charles  had  sent  her  money  which  she  had  kept, 
though  she  reviled  him  for  sending  it.  His  humility 
made  it  impossible  for  him  to  condemn  any  one, 
except  in  extreme  moments  of  self-defense.  "Poor 
little  girl!  By  Jove,  I  wonder  if  she  did  love  me 
a  little  after  all!"  He  shook  his  head,  and  smiled 
with  an  expression  of  sentimental  weariness.  He 
put  Blanche  away  as  incongruous  with  the  thought 
of  Julia  which  filled  him  with  happiness. 

"Sick  o'  the  whole  mess  of  'em.  That  fellow, 
Goode,  making  a  damn  jackass  of  himself  every 
time  a  chorus  girl  winks  at  him.  The  whole  damn 
cheap,  sporting,  booze-fighting  lot  of  nincompoops. 
Goode's  a  grandfather  and  he  looks  it." 

The  door  moved  softly,  there  was  a  light  rap, 
and  Johnson  re-entered  with  a  tray.  Charles  laid 
his  hair  brushes  down.  "Looks  good  to  me,  John- 
son." Johnson  smiled  his  sad,  half-perceptible  smile. 
"Shall  I  mix  it,  sir?" 

"No — Johnson.  No."  With  an  air  of  ostenta- 
tious casualness,  Charles  poured  whisky  into  a  glass 
and  held  it  up  to  the  light.  "Good  stuff."  Johnson 
kept  his  still  smile,  but  did  not  speak. 

Charles  drank  with  deliberate  noisiness.  When 
he  set  the  glass  down  he  drew  a  deep  theatric  sigh. 


2io  NARCISSUS 

His  face  was  solemn.    "Better  try  some,  Johnson." 
The  man  flushed  slightly.    "Anything  else?" 
"No,  no.    Coming  downstairs.    The  madam  had 
her  breakfast  yet?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir.  That  is,  I  think  so,  sir." 
Johnson  turned  away  and  the  door  swung  sound- 
lessly across  his  rigid  back. 

Charles  gave  himself  a  little  more  whisky  that 
brought  the  tears  of  relaxation  to  his  eyes.  He 
wondered  if  he  were  mistaken  about  Julia.  He 
dared  not  consider  future  potentialities  too  defi- 
nitely, though  he  told  himself  that,  whatever  came, 
he  was  ready  for  it.  Would  she  ever  let  him  put 
his  head  in  her  lap?  He  felt  good  and  complacent 
when  he  imagined  it.  The  pose  it  represented  was 
assumed  with  such  sincerity  and  was  so  remote  from 
the  aspect  of  him  with  which  his  wife  was  ac- 
quainted, or  even  the  guise  he  bore  to  his  sporting 
friends.  It  was  pleasant  to  him  to  recognize  this 
secret  and  not  too  obvious  self.  "Well,  Charles, 
you  old  rooster,  you  may  have  broken  most  of  the 
commandments,  and  you  can't  talk  Maeterlinck  and 
Tagore  with  the  old  lady,  but  there's  something  to 
you  they  all  miss.  The  dear!"  he  added,  thinking 
of  Julia. 


NARCISSUS  2ii 

IT  was  Saturday  afternoon.  The  holiday  crowd 
moved  in  endless  double  lines  along  an  endless 
street.  As  Julia  walked  with  it  there  was  a  hill 
before  her  and  the  stream  of  motor  cars  floated 
over  the  crest  against  a  pale  sky  hazy  with  dust. 
Men  stared  at  her  and,  feeling  naked  and  unpos- 
sessed, she  demanded  their  look. 

"Miss  Julia!"  She  glanced  up,  hearing  a  car 
whirr  to  a  standstill  beside  her.  Mr.  Hurst  was 
driving  a  gray  racer.  He  was  bareheaded.  The 
wind  had  disarranged  his  sleek  hair,  revealing  his 
baldness.  He  smoothed  back  the  locks.  He  gazed 
at  her  a  little  fearfully,  but  his  face  was  happy 
and  intent.  "I've  caught  you.  Going  anywhere? 
Let  me  take  you  for  a  ride?"  He  saw  her  eyes, 
the  outline  of  her  breasts,  her  cloth  dress  blown 
against  her  long  legs,  her  ungloved  hands  with  their 
beautiful  helpless  look.  "You  are  tired."  Tender 
of  her  fatigue,  he  was  grateful  to  her  because  she 
allowed  him  this  tenderness.  His  heart  beat  so 
heavily  that  he  fancied  it  must  be  fluttering  the 
breast  of  his  silk  shirt.  She  must  think  me  a  fool, 
dear  girl!  I  love  her!  He  was  conscious  of  being 
a  little  mad  in  his  delight,  and  wanted  to  lay  his 
faults  before  her.  "How's  this?  I'm  going  to  run 


2i2  NARCISSUS 

away  with  you — take  you  off  to  the  country."  Julia 
was  beside  him.  The  car  glided  on. 

"I  can't  be  long."  Julia  stared  into  his  eyes  with 
a  calm  smile,  and  tried  to  be  simple  and  detached. 
She  told  herself  that  she  could  do  nothing  for  him, 
but  that  she  wanted  him  to  understand  her  loneli- 
ness. 

"Well,  we're  going  to  be  long — ever  so  long." 
Her  hair  is  all  in  a  mess — clouds  about  her  eyes. 
Her  little  feet  walking  on  clouds.  Oh,  Julia,  my 
darling,  I  love  you!  She's  not  like  other  women 
I  have  known.  If  she  gives  herself  to  a  caress  it 
means  something  to  her.  "I've  been  looking  for- 
ward to  this — longing  for  it,"  he  said.  "You  know 
that  ever  since  that  night  I  kissed  you  I've  thought 
of  almost  nothing  but  you?" 

Julia  said,  "I'm  sorry." 

"Why?"  All  at  once  everything  confusing  was 
being  swept  away  in  the  nakedness  of  the  wind  they 
rode  against.  "Going  too  fast  for  you — dear?" 

"No.    But  you  mustn't  think  of  me  so  much." 

"Why?" 

"Because — Fm  not  worth  it."  Hypocrite.  She 
wanted  to  be  beautiful.  She  had  a  horrible  sense 
of  her  own  spiritual  leanness  and  ugliness.  If  he 


NARCISSUS  213 

would  take  me  away — kiss  me — anywhere — in  dark- 
ness. She  wanted  to  belong  to  some  one  so  utterly 
as  to  make  her  oblivious  of  herself. 

They  turned  a  sharp  corner.  They  were  in  the 
park  now.  Pale  leaves,  yellow  against  the  light, 
floated,  and  fell  upon  them  in  a  shower  of  silk. 
"I'm  in  love  with  you,  Julia." 

"Are  you?" 

"Don't  ask.  You  know  it.  Don't  you  want  me 
to  be?"  Goode — too  good.  Hadn't  meant  to  say 
that  yet! 

"I  don't  know.  I'm  afraid  I'm  a  disillusioned 
person.  I'm  tired  watching  people  try  to  live 
through  others.  It  can't  be  done." 

"I  think  I  could  live  in  you — through  you — if 
you'd  let  me,  Julia." 

"You  don't  know  me." 

"How  can  I  if  you  won't  let  me,  Julia?"  He 
drew  the  car  nearly  to  a  standstill.  He  grasped  her 
fingers  with  his  free  hand.  "I'm  going  to  kiss  you, 
dear."  It  was  lonely  here.  She  felt  his  mouth  over 
her  face  and  was  ashamed  of  her  distaste  for  him. 
"You're  unhappy,  Julia.  Why  are  you  unhappy?" 

She  withdrew  herself.    "I  am — horribly." 

Charles,  hardening,  felt  relieved,  and  imagined 


214  NARCISSUS 

himself  stronger.  Farley  don't  treat  her  well,  he 
said  to  himself.  In  his  mind  was  a  furtive  expecta- 
tion, with  which  was  mingled  an  unadmitted  thought 
of  divorce.  "Don't  be,  darling.  You  make  me  too 
happy.  It's  not  fair.  Can't  I  be  anything  to  you 
— even  a  little?" 

Julia  laughed  pathetically.  "You  must  be.  I'm 
here." 

"Yes,  thank  God,  you  are.  And  you're  not  going 
to  be  disgusted  with  me  because  I'm  such  an  un- 
pretentious human  animal?  My  taste  in  music  runs 
about  as  high  as  The  Old  Oaken  Bucket,  and  I  sup- 
pose if  I'd  been  left  to  myself  I'd  have  canned  those 
Dudley  Allen  productions  you  persuaded  Catherine 
to  buy,  and  hung  up  Breaking  The  Home  Ties  in- 
stead. You  know  all  this  new  art  stuff  goes  over 
my  head,  child.  Hate  me  for  it?" 

"Not  very  much.  Perhaps  it  goes  over  my  head 
too." 

"Wish  it  did,  but  Kate's  told  me  all  about  you. 
You're  so  damned  clever."  He  wanted  her,  yet,  even 
if  she  offered  herself  to  him  now,  he  could  not  touch 
her.  Her  little  feet.  As  a  matter  of  fact  they 
weren't  small.  Little  feet  just  the  same.  Must 
be  white.  White  feet.  Lovely  things  walking  over 


NARCISSUS  215 

his  heart.  Beautiful  things  hurt  him  with  their 
pride.  He  had  felt  this  before  about  women.  It 
was  always  wrong.  Afterward  only  the  pain  and 
the  longing  remained.  She's  different.  Mine.  I 
can't  have  her.  "You  won't  hate  me  when — "  His 
eyes  misted.  He  gave  her  a  blurred  look.  His  lips 
were  humorous  and  self -contemptuous. 

"Won't  hate  you  when?"   Julia  was  still  motherly. 

It  hurt  him  to  speak.  His  face  was  flushed.  He 
stared  at  her  fixedly  an  instant,  as  if  something  stood 
between  them.  She  observed  his  unsteady  mouth, 
that  was  weakly  unconscious  of  itself  like  a  des- 
perate child's.  "Am  I  going  to  have  you,  Julia? 
Are  you  disgusted  with  me,  child?" 

She  would  not  consider  clearly  what  he  meant, 
but  she  wanted  him  to  shut  Laurence  out  of  her 
mind.  "Yes.  I  think  so."  Her  voice  was  unsteady. 

The  car  went  on,  they  were  out  of  town  among 
suburban  roads  and  vacant  lots.  Charles  drew  up 
again.  "Let's  get  out  and  walk  a  bit." 

The  dry  pinkish  grass  moved  before  them  like  a 
cloud  over  the  field.  It  rustled  stiffly  about  their 
ankles.  The  low  sun  was  in  their  eyes.  Double 
lines  of  gnats  rose  into  the  light.  They  passed  an 
empty  house  with  glaring  uncovered  windows. 


2i6  NARCISSUS 

White  feet  that  hurt.  Charles  was  afraid  of  her. 
He  imagined  her  hands  touching  him.  Oh,  my 
dear!  He  said,  "We  must  find  a  way  to  see  each 
other." 

Julia  said  nothing.  He  took  hold  of  her  arms 
hesitatingly.  "Look  at  me! " 

She  was  ashamed  for  him.  When  their  eyes  met, 
hers  filled  with  tears.  She  seemed  to  herself  dead, 
and  wanted  him  to  be  sorry  for  her.  I  can't  live. 
I'm  dead  already.  No  use.  I'm  dead!  I'm  dead! 
She  wanted  to  be  dead.  Something  kept  alive,  tor- 
turing her. 

"Take  your  hat  off,  won't  you?"  She  took  her 
hat  off.  Clouds.  "Now  I  can  look  at  you."  She 
wondered  if  she  looked  ill.  She  was  ashamed  for 
him  when  he  trembled.  Her  eyes  were  gentle,  and 
at  the  same  time  there  was  something  desperate  in 
them.  It  seemed  to  him  that  she  was  asking  him 
to  hurt  her,  and  he  wanted  to  say,  Don't,  don't! 
Her  face,  that  he  could  not  bear  to  understand,  was 
just  a  blur  of  sweetness.  He  believed  that  her  ten- 
derness for  him  was  something  which  must  be  tried 
by  the  grossness  of  his  pleasure  in  physical  contact 
with  her.  He  thought  his  pleasure  in  her  body 
would  make  her  suffer.  Afterward  he  meant  to 


NARCISSUS  217 

show  her  how  little  that  was,  and  that  what  he  was 
giving  her — what  he  was  asking  of  her — was  really 
something  else.  "I  want  to  be  your  lover,  child." 
It  was  done.  He  was  conscious  of  desperation  and 
relief.  She's  different!  My  God,  she's  different!. 
Blanche.  All  of  them.  He  pitied  himself  with 
them. 

Julia  said,  "I  know  it." 

Why  does  she  smile  like  that?  Forgive  me.  He 
felt  their  two  bodies,  hers  and  his,  pitiful  helpless 
things.  His  shame  was  for  her  too.  "Life,  child! 
It's  got  us,"  he  said.  "Now  I'll  kiss  you  just  once." 
He  gathered  her  up  in  his  arms.  She's  trembling 
too.  She  loves  me!  I  want  to  make  her  happy. 
He  wondered  why  everything  hurt  so.  She's  too 
fine. 

Julia  was  cold.  Frozen  all  over.  It  seemed  he 
would  never  be  done  kissing  her.  She  despised  him, 
and  enjoyed  the  bitterness  of  her  gratitude  in  being 
loved.  When  she  could  speak  she  said,  smiling  yet, 
"We'd  better  be  starting  back.  It's  late.  Look  at 
the  sun."  The  meadow  was  filled  with  cold  light 
that  lay  on  the  grass  tops  and  made  them  burning 
and  colorless.  The  sun,  as  if  dissolving,  was  form- 
less and  brilliant  on  the  horizon. 


218  NARCISSUS 

"Have  you  had  enough  of  me?  Do  you  want  to 
leave  me,  Julia?" 

"No.  It's  only  that  when  I  left  home  it  was 
for  a  little  while." 

As  they  walked  back  to  the  car,  Charles,  holding 
Julia's  hand,  pressed  it  apologetically.  "I  want  to 
take  you  to  a  place  I  have,  Julia — a  cabin  I  go  to 
sometimes  for  fishing  trips.  We  could  motor  there 
and  picnic  for  a  day.  Could  you  be  with  me  as 
long  as  that  without  becoming  more  disillusioned?" 
He  tried  to  joke.  His  thin  face  jested,  but  his  pale 
eyes  were  anxious. 

Julia  said,  in  a  smothered  voice,  "You  mustn't 
love  me  too  much.  You  are  the  one  who  will  be 
disillusioned." 

He  wanted  to  talk  to  her  about  Laurence,  but 
as  yet  did  not  dare;  so  he  pressed  her  hand  again. 
"Darling!"  She  returned  the  pressure  and  was 
piqued  by  his  abstracted  glance.  I'm  alone,  she  said 
to  herself. 

ON  the  following  Saturday  Julia  went  with 
Charles  to  the  cabin  he  had  spoken  of.    It 
was  on  the  shore  of  a  small  lake,  only  a  few  feet 
removed  from  the  water's  edge.     It  was  a  still 


NARCISSUS  219 

cloudy  day,  and  the  lake,  choked  with  sedges,  had 
a  heavy  look,  like  a  mirror  coated  with  grease. 
There  were  pine  woods  all  around  that,  without  un- 
dergrowth, seemed  empty.  The  still  trees  were  like 
things  walking  in  a  dream.  Julia  felt  them,  not 
moving,  going  on  relentlessly  and  spurning  the 
earth.  It  seemed  as  if  everything  in  the  landscape 
had  been  forgotten.  It  was  a  memory  held  intact 
that  no  one  ever  recalled.  A  little  group  of  scrub 
oaks  were  turning  scarlet.  They  were  like  colored 
shadows. 

Charles  drew  up  his  motor  car  in  the  half -oblit- 
erated roadway,  and  helped  Julia  to  alight.  He  felt 
sinful,  as  he  always  did  when  he  was  about  to  en- 
joy anything.  He  wished  that  he  might  beg  Julia 
to  condescend  to  him  as  to  an  inferior  being.  He 
would  be  grateful  for  her  contempt  which,  if  it 
were  tempered  by  affection,  would  allow  him  to  be 
himself. 

She  went  ahead  of  him,  and  waited  in  the  dusty 
portico  of  the  small  house  while  he  covered  some 
cushions  that  might  be  wet  if  it  rained.  When  he 
came  toward  her  his  eyes  were  uncertain.  "Here 
we  are.  Damn  it,  Julia,  I'm  so  happy  I'm  afraid! 


220  NARCISSUS 

You  aren't  going  to  mind  being  here?"  He  carried 
a  picnic  basket. 

"Of  course  not.    Why  should  I  have  come?" 

He  set  the  basket  down.  "Hands  all  grimy. 
Why  should  you!  God,  I  don't  know.  I'm  going 
to  love  you."  He  swung  her  hands  in  his  delight- 
edly, but  there  was  something  stealthy  and  embar- 
rassed in  his  manner.  He  could  not  bring  himself 
to  kiss  her.  "At  least  you're  not  going  to  try  to 
make  a  new  man  of  me!" 

"I  know  my  limitations." 

"You  haven't  any,  darling." 

Julia's  mouth  was  happy,  but  her  eyes  were  dark 
and  unkind.  "It  makes  one  uncomfortable  to  be 
thought  too  well  of."  She  knew  that  she  was  about 
to  give  herself  to  him  and  resented  his  confidence. 
He  was  a  crude  childlike  man.  At  the  same  time, 
she  sensed  a  simplicity  in  him  that  was  almost 
noble.  Her  self-esteem  could  not  endure  thinking 
of  a  possible  debt  to  him. 

"Shall  we  go  in?"  He  opened  the  door  and  went 
in  ahead  of  her.  The  place  was  crowded  with 
camp  beds,  piled  one  on  top  of  the  other,  and  num- 
bers of  more  or  less  dilapidated  chairs.  There  was 
a  thick  coating  of  dust  over  everything,  and  films 


NARCISSUS  221 

of  spider  web  across  the  window  panes  yellowed 
the  light.  "Isn't  this  a  disgrace,  child?  I  ought 
to  have  had  a  house-cleaning  before  we  came 
out." 

"I  like  work.  We'll  clean  up  together."  She 
removed  her  hat  and  laid  it  on  a  table.  Charles 
took  off  his  coat.  He  found  an  old  broom,  swept 
up  the  trash  that  littered  the  floor,  and  began  to 
pull  the  furniture  into  place.  Julia  discovered  a 
torn  shirt  and  used  it  to  clean  the  window  glass. 
Charles  felt  the  morning  was  passing  grotesquely. 
I  love  her.  What  shall  I  do!  "Jove,  I  wish  we 
lived  here!"  he  said.  When  he  had  laid  a  fire  in 
the  stone  chimney,  he  pulled  out  one  of  the  camp 
beds  and  made  a  divan  with  blankets  and  pillows. 
"Come  sit  down  here  and  warm  yourself,  child." 
He  turned  his  back  to  her  and  began  warming  his 
hands.  "It's  damp  in  here." 

Julia  came  to  the  fire.  She  did  not  seat  herself. 
He  knew  she  was  beside  him.  He  put  off  the  mo- 
ment when  he  must  look  at  her.  As  he  finally 
turned,  his  suffused  eyes  avoided  hers.  He  was 
smiling  miserably.  "Have  I  made  a  mistake?" 

Julia  felt  blind  inside  herself.  "Mistake?"  She 
laughed  nervously. 


222  NARCISSUS 

He  fumbled  for  her  hands.  " Julia  1"  His  emo- 
tion could  no  longer  distinguish  between  her  and 
himself.  His  face  was  in  her  hair.  "I  can't  help 
it,  child!  I  can't  help  it!" 

Finding  herself  futile  and  inadequate,  it  seemed 
to  Julia  that  her  pity  for  herself  must  include  all 
the  things  that  surrounded  her,  and  that  she  must 
embrace  them  in  the  mingled  agony  of  self-con- 
tempt and  pride.  It  was  because  she  did  not  love 
him  that  it  liberated  her  so  completely  to  give  her- 
self to  him.  She  tried  to  abase  herself  utterly  so 
that  she  might  experience  the  joy  of  rising  above 
her  own  needs. 

Her  tears  were  on  his  hands  and  he  was  bewil- 
dered. The  contagion  of  her  emotion  overpowered 
him.  He  was  equally  astonished  at  her  and  at 
himself.  For  a  moment  he  was  unable  to  speak. 
aOh;  Julia — my  Julia — I  love  you!"  He  could  not 
comprehend  himself.  Why  was  it  that  even  now, 
when  she  surrendered  herself  to  him,  he  continued 
to  feel  helpless  and  almost  terrified.  He  had  not 
imagined  that  she  loved  him  as  deeply  as  this.  His 
desire  to  abase  himself,  though  it  arose  from  a  dif- 
ferent motive,  was  as  complete  as  hers.  "Julia," 


NARCISSUS  223 

he  kept  repeating,  "don't!  What  is  it,  Julia? 
Don't!"  He  wanted  to  kiss  her  feet.  What  is  it? 
What  have  I  done?  He  found  himself  at  the  mercy 
of  something  unknown  that  was  cheating  them  when 
they  should  have  had  happiness.  "Do  you  love  me, 
Julia?"  He  observed  her  expression  of  tenderness 
and  suffering.  Yet,  while  she  was  telling  him  that 
she  loved  him,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  ignored 
and  obliterated  by  what  she  was  feeling. 

Julia  sat  on  the  camp  bed  and,  as  he  had  prom- 
ised himself,  he  knelt  beside  her  and  buried  his 
face  in  her  lap.  Still,  though  he  did  not  admit  it, 
he  knew  the  gesture  was  false.  He  was  embarrassed 
by  his  hostility  to  her  pity.  He  believed  now  that 
he  loved  her  far  more  than  he  had  loved  her  be- 
fore. He  could  no  longer  articulate  his  situation 
or  his  intentions,  or  anything  practical  connected 
with  his  life.  He  decided  that,  though  she  made 
him  unhappy,  life  would  only  be  endurable  if  he 
saw  her  more  frequently  and  in  a  franker  relation- 
ship. How  this  was  to  be  brought  about  he  dared 
not  reflect.  When  Laurence's  name  was  on  his  lips 
he  recalled  Catherine  and  the  pain  of  indecision 
made  him  dumb. 


224  NARCISSUS 

Julia  felt  that  even  this  last  attempt  to  lose  her- 
self was  a  failure.  While  she  stroked  his  hair,  she 
was  furtively  considering  whether  or  not  she  dared 
see  him  again. 

LAURENCE  knew  now  that  his  attitude  regard- 
ing Bobby  was  apparent  to  Julia,  and  that  it 
caused  her  pain.  Why  he  punished  her  by  keeping 
her  apart  from  his  son  and  making  her  ill  at  ease 
;when  the  child  was  present  he  could  not  have  said. 
However,  though  he  realized  absurdities  in  himself, 
he  would  not  renounce  his  sense  of  righteousness. 
What  he  suffered  through  compunction  was  to  him 
the  pain  of  virtue.  He  hurt  Julia  in  order  to  con- 
vince himself  of  her  depth  of  feeling.  While  he 
observed  her  misery,  he  could  believe  that  she  would 
not  betray  him  again.  Her  agony  was  his,  but  it 
showed  him  that  she  was  not  callous  and  indifferent 
to  the  consequences  of  her  acts.  He  could  not  yet 
allow  himself  to  express  any  love  for  her.  He  would 
not  even  admit  his  desire  to  do  so.  In  the  mean- 
time, without  understanding  his  expectation,  he 
waited  and  withheld  himself.  When  she  looked  at 
him  there  was  always  in  her  eyes  the  demand  of 
self-pity.  When  she  would  accept,  as  he  did,  the  rec- 


NARCISSUS  225 

ognition  that  there  was  nothing,  that  there  could 
be  nothing,  he  would  not  be  afraid  to  give  him- 
self. He  struggled  with  his  tenderness  for  her.  It 
was  always  tearing  at  him.  He  was  never  at  rest. 
Because  he  put  the  thought  of  her  out  of  his  mind, 
he  seemed  to  have  no  thoughts  at  all — only  an 
emptiness  consuming  him.  He  tried  to  comfort 
himself  with  generalities  and  reverted  to  the  illusory 
finality  of  the  positivist  philosophy  which  he  had  at 
one  time  professed. 

Julia  decided  that  self-loathing  was  the  inevitable 
outgrowth  of  profound  experience.  Others,  who 
were  as  fully  self-aware  as  she,  were  filled  with 
the  same  nausea  of  futility.  She  had  several  times 
talked  to  Charles  Hurst  on  the  telephone,  and  the 
sound  of  his  voice  always  exhilarated  her.  When 
she  sensed  his  emotion  in  speaking  with  her,  a 
kind  of  iron  seemed  to  enter  into  her  despair.  Her 
distaste  for  contact  with  him  only  convinced  her  of 
the  pride  of  her  recklessness.  The  more  intimate 
their  relationship  became,  the  more  voluptuously 
she  scourged  herself  by  her  accurate  perceptions  of 
his  deficiencies.  Only  by  seeing  him  at  his  worst 
could  she  preserve  her  gratification  in  being  tender 
to  him  and  careless  of  her  own  interest. 


226  NARCISSUS 

JULIA  was  continually  irritated  by  the  trivial 
routine  of  daily  existence.  The  banality  of  life 
was  humiliating  to  her.  Always,  before  she  went 
to  the  laboratory,  she  stopped  in  the  kitchen  to  give 
Nellie  the  orders  for  the  day.  The  poised  indiffer- 
ence of  the  old  woman's  manner  never  failed  to 
have  an  almost  maddening  effect.  "Is  the  butter  out, 
Nellie?  Shall  I  order  any  sugar  this  week?"  Nel- 
lie's opaque,  self-engrossed  eyes  were  continually 
fixed  on  some  distant  object.  "Yas'm.  I  reckon 
you  bettah  odah  sugah.  Dey's  plenty  o'  buttah." 
Julia  smiled  and  tapped  her  foot  on  the  bare,  clean- 
scrubbed  boards.  "You're  frightfully  inattentive, 
Nellie."  Nellie's  full  purplish  lips  pouted  rumina- 
tively.  Her  face  was  like  a  stone.  "I  always  tends 
to  what's  mah  business,  Miss  Julia.  You  has  yo' 
ways  an'  I  has  mine."  And  Julia,  in  puzzled  de- 
feat, invariably  left  the  kitchen. 

When  she  encountered  May,  it  was  as  bad.  The 
girl's  vapid,  apologetic  smile  suggested  the  stubborn 
resistances  of  weakness.  "Do  you  love  your  negli- 
gent Aunt  Julia,  May?"  May  would  give  a  side- 
wise  glance  from  soft  protesting  eyes.  Then  Julia, 
realizing  that  she  should  be  touched  by  May's  affec- 
tion, would  put  her  arms  about  the  girl. 


NARCISSUS  227 

But  Julia  found  herself  actively  disliking  the 
child  who  forced  upon  her  an  undefined  sense  of  re- 
sponsibility, elicited  by  the  exhibition  of  unhappi- 
ness.  "Now,  May,  dear,  I  know  you  love  me — 
you  funny,  sensitive  little  thing!"  Julia's  perfunc- 
tory tone  was  a  subtle  and  deliberate  repulse. 

May,  wanting  to  hide  herself,  pressed  her  fore- 
head against  her  sleeve.  Julia  tried  to  pull  May's 
arms  apart,  and  wondered  at  her  own  satisfaction 
in  the  brutality  of  the  gesture.  It  seemed  to  May 
that  Aunt  Julia's  hands  were  about  to  tear  open 
her  heart.  "Angry  with  me,  May?  This  is  so 
silly." 

With  an  effort,  May  lifted  her  quivering  face  to 
Aunt  Julia's  cold  eyes,  and  giggled.  "Of  course 
not."  She  wanted  to  keep  Aunt  Julia  from  looking 
at  her  and  knowing  her. 

"You  aren't,  eh?  Well,  be  a  good  girl.  There!" 
A  kiss,  meekly  accepted.  How  Julia  abhorred  that 
meekness!  "Where's  Paul  these  days?  He  hasn't 
run  away  to  the  South  Seas  or  some  such  place 
without  telling  us  good-by?"  Julia  felt  guilty  when 
she  referred  to  him.  But  Paul  and  May  were  chil- 
dren. That  explained  away  an  unnamed  thing. 

"I — I  don't  know."    Again  May  giggled. 


228  NARCISSUS 

"Why  don't  you  go  to  see  Lucy  Wilson?" 

"I  don't  know.    I  don't  care  much  about  going 

anywhere." 

My  God,  what's  to  become  of  the  girl!     Why 

should  she  live,  Julia  thought. 

MRS.  HURST  was  finding  it  more  and  more 
difficult  to  face  her  husband.  Something 
which  was  becoming  chronic  in  his  manner  aroused 
a  suspicious  protest  in  her.  When,  in  the  morning, 
he  entered  the  breakfast  room  and  found  her  already 
seated  at  the  table,  she  bit  her  lips,  and  between 
her  brows  appeared  a  little  invariable  frown. 
Charles  was  a  mystery  to  her.  She  wanted  him 
to  be  a  mystery.  The  thing  she  had  to  fight  against 
most  was  the  recognition  of  his  obviousness.  A 
child!  A  ridiculous  grown-up  child!  Quite  incom- 
prehensible. And  when  her  reflections  culminated 
too  logically  she  put  them  aside  with  an  emphasis 
on  "the  sacredness  of  sex".  There  were  flirtations, 
trivial  improprieties,  she  knew,  and  she  admitted 
them.  Perhaps  all  men  were  like  that,  spiritually 
so  immature.  But  where  the  flesh  impinged  upon 
her  dream  there  was  only  an  excited  darkness  in 
which  she  defiantly  closed  her  eyes. 


NARCISSUS  229 

"Mrs.  Wilson  is  going  out  to  Marburne  this  week, 
Charles.  She's  organizing  a  distributing  center  for 
the  country  women.  They  are  quite  out  of  touch 
with  the  city  markets  and  some  of  them  make  such 
wonderful  things — jams  and  embroideries,  needle- 
work and  the  like.  She's  trying  to  get  cooperation 
from  other  people  who  summer  there.  She  wants 
to  build  an  industrial  school  for  the  girls,  and  is 
willing  to  put  up  a  third  of  the  necessary  money 
if  others  will  contribute  the  rest.  She  wants  me 
to  go  out  there  with  her  and  speak  in  various  coun- 
try schools."  Catherine  was  resisting  the  convic- 
tion that  something  critical  was  occurring  in  her 
husband's  inner  life.  The  idea  of  going  away  from 
the  city,  and  leaving  him,  in  such  a  state,  to  his 
own  devices,  frightened  her.  To  admit  the  neces- 
sity of  remaining,  however,  was  to  concede  the  ex- 
istence of  an  issue.  When  he  looked  at  her,  it  was 
as  if  he  said,  I'm  like  this,  but  I  can't  help  it,  so 
forgive  me.  She  did  not  wish  to  know  what  that 
look  meant.  For  years  she  had  warded  off  crises 
by  merely  ignoring  their  imminence.  She  dared  not 
abandon  the  serviceable  belief  that  the  disturbing 
elements  of  life  cease  to  confuse  us  if  we  refuse 
to  admit  that  they  exist.  She  called  this,  Rising 


230  NARCISSUS 

above  our  lower  selves.  There  is  so  much  truth, 
you  know,  in  the  religions  of  the  Orient.  At  the 
same  time,  Catherine's  transcendental  generaliza- 
tions did  not  save  her  from  bitterness.  Life  was 
difficult,  and  Charles  had  left  her  more  than  her 
share  of  responsibility  for  its  solution. 

Charles  regarded  his  wife  wistfully,  almost  sen- 
timentally. He  made  a  good-humored  grimace. 
"Mrs.  Wilson  going  to  carry  sweetness  and  light 
to  Marburne,  is  she?"  He  was  crumbling  bread 
between  his  blunt  unsteady  fingers,  and  scattering 
it  on  the  table  cloth.  What  was  he  thinking  of? 

Catherine  smiled  at  him,  a  perplexed  resentful 
smile,  a  trifle  hard.  He  was  unhappy  before  her. 
There  was  something  cold  and  watchful  half-hidden 
in  her  eyes  beneath  her  pleasantly  wrinkled  lids. 
"Mrs.  Wilson  is  a  very  valuable,  capable  woman." 

Charles  grimaced  gallantly  but  derisively.  He 
was  leaning  one  elbow  on  the  table,  and  now  he 
caught  the  flesh  above  his  nose  and  pinched  it  with 
his  thumb  and  forefinger  as  if  to  still  a  hurt.  "Yes," 
he  agreed  with  light  absence.  "By  Jove,  I  know  it! 
Every  time  I  see  poor  old  Jack  Wilson  it  reminds 
me  of  how  capable  she  is." 

Catherine  agreed  to  be  amused,  though  her  mouth 


NARCISSUS  231 

was  severe.  "Ridicule  is  an  easy  way  out  of  diffi- 
culty, Charles." 

"Difficulty?  Is  it?  Damn  me,  I  wish  it  was!" 
He  pushed  his  plate  aside  and  pressed  the  fingers 
of  both  hands  against  his  lowered  brow. 

Catherine,  determinedly  complacent,  tapped  her 
foot  under  the  table  and  ate  daintily.  The  nervous 
frown  reasserted  itself  and  she  smoothed  it  away 
with  an  effort. 

Charles  lifted  his  head,  as  with  a  sudden  sweetly- 
depressing  resolution.  "So  you're  going  away. 
When?" 

Catherine  was  diligently  attentive  to  her  food. 
"Perhaps  I  may  not  be  able  to  go.  I  have  so 
many  important  things — "  She  hesitated. 

Charles  rose,  as  if  imperatively  desirous  of  physi- 
cal expression.  He  halted  a  moment  by  the  table. 
Catherine  had  no  name  for  his  saccharine  melan- 
choly, but  she  detested  it.  "I  haven't  been  such 
a  hell  of  a  husband,  have  I,  Kate?"  Ridiculous, 
she  thought.  She  saw  his  mouth  twitch.  She  was 
afraid.  He  touched  her  hair  and  she  bore  it. 
"Things  might  have  been  worse  for  you,  Kate." 

She  sensed  in  his  pity  for  her  a  phase  of  the  pity 
for  himself  which  supplied  the  excuse  for  all  his 


232  NARCISSUS 

shortcomings.  "You'll  muss  my  hair,  Charles.  I 
think  life  has  treated  me  very  well  indeed  —  both 
of  us,  I  should  say." 

"We  men  are  a  rough  lot,  but  we  mean  well. 
Time  for  me  to  get  down  to  the  dirty  world  of 
commerce."  His  hand  dropped  away  from  her.  He 
took  out  his  watch. 

White  feet  —  he  was  tired. 

Catherine  did  not  glance  up  as  he  went  out. 
She  was  hostile  toward  his  disappearing  back  that 
was  invisible  to  her.  She  laid  her  knife  and  fork 
very  precisely  on  her  plate.  When  she  spoke  to 
the  servant  who  came  to  clear  away  the  dishes,  her 
manner,  though  kind,  was  peculiarly  severe. 


had  long  ago  definitely  decided, 
though  on  no  more  than  circumstantial  evi- 
dence, that  Julia  had  no  life  with  her  husband,  and 
now  he  wanted  her  to  the  point  of  divorcing  Cath- 
erine. Of  course  he  had  as  yet  said  nothing  de- 
cisive to  either  Julia  or  his  wife.  Until  he  was 
prepared  to  act  it  seemed  to  him  unnecessary  to 
speak. 

It  was  night.    He  was  in  his  room  alone.    With- 
out removing  his  clothes  he  threw  himself  on  the 


NARCISSUS  233 

bed,  soiling  the  handsome  counterpane  with  his  pol- 
ished shoes.  Mentally  he  reviewed  the  histories 
of  those  of  his  friends  who  had  taken  some  such 
steps  as  he  was  contemplating.  The  more  he 
thought  about  the  domestic  upheavals  which  he  had 
noted  from  a  safe  distance,  the  more  it  was  borne 
in  upon  him  that,  no  matter  how  great  his  desire 
to  avoid  causing  suffering,  the  moment  he  began 
to  act  positively,  suffering  for  others  would  result 
from  anything  that  he  did. 

Charles  had  never  found  himself  able  to  inflict 
even  a  just  punishment.  Wherever  possible  he 
avoided  the  sight  of  pain.  In  the  street  he  would 
go  a  block  out  of  his  intended  way  to  evade  the 
familiar  spectacle  of  some  wretched  beggar.  In 
doing  so,  his  relief  in  escape  was  greater  than  his 
sense  of  guilt.  If  he  was  approached  directly  for 
whatever  pathetic  cause  he  always  gave  away  every- 
thing that  was  in  his  pocket,  and  only  asked  that 
no  one  remind  him  of  the  occasion  of  his  generosity. 
His  wife  was  an  efficient  charity  worker.  Every 
quarter  year  he  allowed  her  a  sum — always  above 
what  her  practical  nature  would  have  dictated — to 
dispose  of  in  the  alleviation  of  physical  distress. 
He  deferred  to  her  common  sense,  and  was  glad  to 


234  NARCISSUS 

be  relieved  of  the  depressing  knowledge  of  particular 
cases.  As  regarded  legislative  remedies  for  wrongs, 
he  was  conservative  where  his  business  dealings  were 
affected,  but  had  an  open  sympathy  with  revolution- 
ary protests  on  the  part  of  oppressed  peoples  in 
any  far-off  European  or  Asiatic  state.  He  had  per- 
suaded himself  that  extreme  measures  were  needed 
to  compel  fair  play  from  the  ancient  orthodoxies 
abroad,  while  reformatory  methods  could  achieve 
everything  at  home. 

He  decried  the  prevalence  of  divorce,  and  the  dis- 
integration of  the  home.  Yet  never,  in  a  given 
instance,  had  he  been  able  to  condemn  the  friend 
or  acquaintance  who  had  become  dissatisfied  with 
his  wife  and  sought  happiness  by  forming  new  ties. 
Maternity  in  the  abstract  represented  to  him  a  con- 
fused and  embarrassing  ideal.  But  he  recalled  his 
own  mother,  who  had  never  loved  him,  with  a  pain 
he  did  not  attempt  to  analyze. 

He  was  thinking  now  of  young  Goode's  wife,  who, 
before  her  marriage  was  a  year  old,  had  run  away 
with  another  man.  Two  days  previously  Charles 
had  met  young  Goode  in  the  street.  To  keep  from 
listening  to  any  reminiscence  of  the  affair,  Charles 


NARCISSUS  235 

had  talked  to  him  rapidly  in  a  jocular  voice  and 
taken  him  off  to  his  club  to  give  him  a  drink. 

Charles  turned  in  the  bed,  groaned,  and  hid  his 
face.  If  only  Catherine  were  far  away!  Had  gone 
abroad  for  a  trip,  or  something  like  that!  He  be- 
lieved that  the  emotion  he  experienced  when  he  held 
Julia  in  his  arms  or  knelt  with  his  head  in  her 
lap  was  unlike  anything  that  had  ever  before  come 
to  him.  He  felt  that  through  Julia  he  had  dis- 
covered qualities  in  himself  by  which  he  could  lift 
himself  from  the  banal  plane  where  he  had  been 
placed  by  others.  The  imposed  acceptance  of  lim- 
itations had  humiliated  him.  It  was  not  so  much 
Julia  that  he  was  afraid  of  losing,  as  the  quality 
within  him  which  he  felt  she  alone  could  evoke. 
He  knew  his  own  weakness  too  well.  If,  at  this 
crisis,  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  initiate  a  change, 
the  miracle  which  was  present  would  lose  its  po- 
tency, and  he  would  be  convicted  forever  of  the 
triviality  which  his  friends  saw  in  him. 

Charles  rose  to  a  sitting  posture  and  threw  off 
his  coat.  When  he  lay  down  again  he  covered  his 
eyes  with  his  stubby  fingers.  The  revealed  lower 
portion  of  his  florid  face  was  harsh  and  drawn.  He 
could  count  the  pulse  jumping  in  his  temples  where 


236  NARCISSUS 

his  hands  pressed.  His  weak  lips,  unconscious  of 
themselves,  looked  shriveled  with  unhappiness.  As 
the  tears  came  under  his  lids  and  slipped  down  his 
cheeks,  his  chin  shook,  and  he  made  a  grimace  like 
a  contorted  smile.  All  his  gestures  were  cumber- 
some and  pathetic.  He  wanted  the  love  that  would 
not  despise  his  indecisions.  At  this  moment  he 
feared  that  even  Julia  might  not  be  equal  to  it. 

He  despised  his  cowardice,  yet  had  a  certain 
pride  in  the  frankness  of  his  self-confession.  Chris- 
tianity, in  his  mind,  had  to  do  with  sanctimonious 
Puritanism.  He  resisted  with  disgust  what  he  un- 
derstood to  be  the  Christian  conception  of  humility. 
But  he  wanted  to  trust  people  and  lay  himself  at 
their  feet.  Not  all — one  woman's  feet. 

There  was  nothing  else  for  it!  His  thoughts 
were  betraying  him.  He  had  to  have  alcohol.  He 
rolled  to  one  side  of  the  bed,  tore  his  collar  open, 
and  staggered  to  his  feet.  Already,  the  resolution 
to  indulge  himself  softened  the  clash  of  uncertain- 
ties. When  he  had  gone  to  a  cellarette,  and  taken  a 
drink  from  a  decanter  there,  his  misery  grew  warm 
and  sweet.  His  body  was  inundated  in  the  hot 
painful  essence  of  his  own  soul.  He  was  helpless 
and  at  ease,  bathed  in  himself. 


NARCISSUS  237 

Standing  by  the  window,  he  watched  the  cold 
small  moon  rising  above  the  houses  on  the  other 
side  of  the  street.  Strange  and  alone  in  whiteness, 
it  flashed  above  the  dark  roofs  that  glistened  with 
a  purplish  light.  Charles,  startled  by  the  poesy  of 
his  own  mood,  compared  it  to  a  piece  of  shattered 
mirror  reflecting  emptiness.  He  was  ingenuously 
surprised  by  his  imaginings.  Staring,  with  his  large 
nai've  eyes,  at  the  glowing  moon  in  the  profound 
starless  sky,  he  was  convinced  of  an  incredible  beauty 
in  everything,  but  particularly  in  himself. 

PAUL  knew  that  in  a  fortnight  he  was  expected 
to  be  away  at  college.  Without  having  spoken 
to  any  one  of  his  resolve,  he  had  decided  on  rebel- 
lion. Of  late  he  had  been  a  regular  attendant  at 
industrial  gatherings.  When  he  talked  to  Social- 
ists, Communists,  or  even  people  with  anarchistic 
leanings,  he  was  conscious  of  making  himself  absurd 
with  the  illogical  violence  of  his  remarks.  He  felt 
that  he  was  continually  doing  himself  an  injustice, 
for  almost  everything  he  said  suggested  that  he  was 
taking  the  side  of  the  oppressed  only  to  gratify  a 
personal  spite.  At  the  same  time,  he  confessed 
to  himself  that  the  revolution  pleased  him  doubly 


238  NARCISSUS 

when  it  emphasized  the  triviality  and  complacency 
of  women  like  Julia  and  her  friends,  who  titillated 
their  vanity  by  trifling  with  matters  which  concerned 
the  actual  life  and  death  of  a  huge,  semi-submerged 
class. 

On  one  occasion  he  listened  to  the  tempestuous 
speech  of  a  young  Rumanian  Jewess,  and  was  ex- 
alted by  the  mere  passion  of  her  words,  irrespec- 
tive of  their  content.  It  seemed  beautiful  to  him 
that  this  young  woman,  under  the  suspicion  of  the 
police,  was  able  to  express  her  faith  with  such  utter 
recklessness.  He  wished  that  he  too  might  endanger 
himself.  He  hated  the  bourgeois  comfort  of  his 
uncle's  home.  In  order  to  achieve  such  righteous 
defiance  it  was  necessary  to  suffer  something  at  the 
hands  of  the  enemy.  Instead  of  running  away  to 
sea,  as  he  had  at  first  planned,  he  decided  that  he 
ought  to  go  into  a  factory  to  work,  and  live  in  a 
low  quarter  of  the  city.  There  was  Byronic  pleas- 
ure in  imagining  the  loneliness  that  would  be  his 
lot.  His  desperation  would  be  a  rebuke  to  those 
who  despised  him  as  a  credulous  youth.  Above 
everything,  he  wanted  to  be  poor  and  socially  lost. 
When  he  was  at  home,  his  uncle  nagged  him  and 


NARCISSUS  239 

his  aunt  watched  him  continually  with  curiosity  and 
resentment.  She  thought  he  was  lazy,  that  he 
lounged  about  the  streets  and  was  untidy  in  his 
dress. 

Paul  haunted  slums  where  sex  in  its  crudest  form 
was  always  manifest.  He  treasured  his  aversion 
to  it.  The  deeper  understanding  of  life  had  lifted 
him  above  its  necessities.  He  was  never  so  much 
in  the  mood  to  enter  the  battle  for  industrial  right, 
in  utter  disregard  of  selfish  interests,  as  after  resist- 
ing an  appeal  to  what  he  termed  his  elemental  na- 
ture. Then  he  became  impatient  of  his  exclusion 
from  present  dangers. 

At  last  he  was  introduced  to  the  Rumanian  Jewess 
he  had  so  much  admired.  But  when  he  saw  that 
she  was  interested  in  men,  and  even  something  of 
a  coquette,  it  filled  him  with  repugnance.  He  ob- 
served much  in  her  that  he  had  not  taken  account 
of  before.  There  was  something  coarse  and  sensual 
in  her  heavy  figure.  Her  skin,  that  was  dark  and 
oily,  now  appeared  to  him  unclean.  And  in  her 
friendly  eyes,  with  their  look  of  frank  invitation, 
he  discovered  a  secret  depravity.  This  made  him 
question  the  need  to  merge  his  sense  of  self  in  the 


240  NARCISSUS 

impersonal  self  of  the  working  class.  It  seemed 
certain  that,  to  remain  pure  for  leadership,  he  must 
live  apart. 

IN  the  vague  morning  street  figures  passed  dimly 
on  their  way  to  work.  The  sun,  half  visible, 
melted  in  pale  rays  that  trembled  on  the  wet  roofs 
of  houses.  The  diffused  shadows  lay  on  the  pave- 
ments in  transparent  veils.  Julia,  on  her  way  to 
the  laboratory,  saw  Paul  walking  in  front  of  her, 
stooping,  a  tall,  awkward  figure  with  a  cap  pulled 
over  its  face.  She  called,  "Paul!"  She  noticed 
that  he  hesitated  perceptibly  before  he  glanced  back. 
In  her  state  of  mind  she  felt  rebuked  for  every- 
thing that  went  wrong  around  her.  Paul's  hesitation 
challenged  her  conscience. 

He  turned  and  awaited  her  approach.  She  took 
his  cold  limp  fingers.  He  seemed  shy — almost  an- 
gry— and  would  not  look  at  her.  "May  and  I  have 
missed  you,  Paul.  Were  you  trying  to  run  away 
from  me?"  A  moment  before  hearing  her  voice 
he  had  felt  worldly  and  old  and  self-possessed.  He 
hated  himself  because,  at  the  time,  she  always  obliged 
him  to  believe  in  her  estimate  of  him  rather  than 
his  own.  He  walked  along  beside  her  with  his  hands 


NARCISSUS  241 

in  his  pockets,  his  head  lowered.  "Until  I  met 
your  aunt  the  other  day  I  thought  you  had  taken 
the  long  voyage  you  were  always  talking  about.  We 
haven't  been  such  bad  friends  that  we  deserve  to  be 
ignored,  have  we?" 

Paul  said,  "I  haven't  been  to  see  anybody." 

She  thought  his  reserve  sulky.  "Aren't  you  go- 
ing to  college  in  a  few  days?" 

Paul  turned  red.  He  was  all  against  her.  "I 
think  a  lot  of  college  is  a  waste  of  time." 

"I  suppose  it  is,  but  one  might  waste  time  much 
more  disastrously." 

"I  feel  that  going  to  college  would  be  hypnotizing 
myself  for  four  years  so  I  wouldn't  know  what  real 
people  were  doing." 

"Surely  there  are  some  real  people  in  college!" 

"Well,  they  manage  to  hide  themselves.  No  col- 
lege professor  would  ever  let  you  know  that  there 
was  such  a  thing  as  a  class  struggle  going  on!" 

Poor  child!  Why  is  he  so  angry!  "I  see  you're 
still  very  much  interested  in  economics." 

"Well,  I  haven't  much  use  for  the  theoretical  side 
of  it." 

"I  thought  economics  was  all  theory." 

Paul's  intolerance  scarcely  permitted  him  to  an- 


242  NARCISSUS 

swer  her.  Most  women,  who  go  in  for  making  the 
world  right  over  a  cup  of  tea,  do!  "If  anything 
good  comes  to  the  working  people  of  this  country 
it  will  be  through  direct  action."  He  could  not  go 
on.  His  words  suffocated  him.  He  knew  that  she 
was  cursing  him  once  more  with  the  sin  of  youth. 
"I  can't  expect  people  who  don't  know  anything 
about  actual  conditions  to  agree  with  me."  His 
trembling  hands  fumbled  helplessly  in  his  pockets. 
It  was  all  dim  between  them.  Love.  I  must  love 
the  world.  She  has  never  suffered.  It  was  almost 
as  if  she  must  suffer  before  he  could  go  on  with 
what  he  believed.  The  world  that  was  old  seemed 
stronger  and  harder  than  he  could  bear.  People 
work  because  they  must  starve  otherwise.  She  goes 
to  work  that  is  only  another  diversion.  They  die. 
I  could  die.  Dead  beast.  Beauty  and  the  beast. 
His  heart  was  like  a  stone. 

Julia,  watching  him  as  they  walked,  saw  his  gullet 
move  in  his  long  stooped  neck.  Poor  awkward 
child!  "I  like  you  for  feeling  all  this,  Paul.  I  used 
to  feel  the  same  things." 

"I  suppose  you  don't  believe  in  them  now!" 
"I'm  afraid  I  don't,  Paul — not  entirely.    So  many 
people  have  tried."    She  was  jealous  of  the  child's 


NARCISSUS  243 

illusion,  but  at  the  same  time  complacently  sad.  He 
doesn't  know  me.  The  boy  doesn't  know  me.  Pity, 
baby,  Dudley,  Charles,  Laurence. 

"It  wouldn't  be  hopeless  if  they  didn't  all  pat 
themselves  on  the  back  for  being  disillusioned." 

"What  would  you  think  then  if  I  said  I  envied 
you?"  She  loved  him  for  misjudging  her.  It  magni- 
fied the  importance  of  her  loneliness.  They  were  at 
a  crossing  where  they  must  part.  "Are  you  going 
this  way?"  What  makes  the  child  look  at  me  like 
that!  He's  unhappy.  Paul  said,  "No."  "Then 
you'll  come  to  see  us — come  to  see  May  and  me?" 
His  hand  did  not  take  hers,  only  permitted  her  grasp. 
She  smiled  and  went  on,  feeling  that  she  was  leaving 
something  behind  that  she  had  meant  to  keep. 

He  remembered  her  eyes,  proud  and  humble  at 
the  same  time,  that  asked  of  him.  As  she  left  him  it 
was  as  if  he  were  dying.  I  must  love  some  one!  He 
thought  of  her  soul,  a  physical  soul,  meager  and 
abandoned.  All  at  once  an  unasked  thing  possessed 
him.  I  love  her!  He  was  sick  with  sudden  terror 
and  surprise.  He  walked  blindly,  jostling  people  he 
met.  She  takes  everything  beautiful  out  of  my  life! 
His  hands  clenched  in  his  pockets.  No.  When  he 
said  love,  he  meant  hate. 


244  NARCISSUS 

The  Indian  girl  walked  down  the  grass  to  the  ship. 
The  waves,  pale  and  white-crested,  parted  before  her. 
The  waves  were  like  white  breasts  lying  apart  wait- 
ing for  him.  It  was  cold  in  the  sea.  She  wants  to 
kill  me.  Now  he  knew  what  was  meant  by  death  — 
beautiful  in  coldness.  White  breasts  like  sculptured 
things.  They  were  so  still  he  could  lie  in  them  for- 
ever. Death.  The  peace  of  perfection.  In  the  cold 
pure  sky  quivered  the  thin  rays  of  stars.  The  end 
of  life.  I  love  her,  not  beautiful  —  her  weak  body 
torn  by  life. 

No,  no,  no!  He  could  not  endure  it.  Seas  paler, 
and  paler  still.  Not  beautiful.  The  water  ran  out 
forever.  Dawn,  and  the  empty  sands  like  glowing 
shadows  of  silk.  A  sandpiper  flying  overhead  made 
dim  reflections  of  himself.  With  flashings  of  heavy 
light,  the  water  unrolled,  and  sank  back  from  the 
beach. 


made  repeated  unsuccessful  efforts  to 
see  Julia.  It  was  a  long  time  before  he  was 
willing  to  be  convinced  that  she  was  avoiding  him. 
When  he  finally  realized  it,  he  felt  that  he  had  been 
going  toward  a  place  which  seemed  beautiful,  but 


NARCISSUS  245 

that  when  he  stood  in  it  there  was  only  emptiness. 
The  emptiness  was  in  him,  hard,  like  a  light  which 
disclosed  nothing  but  its  own  brightness.  He  hated, 
but  the  emotion  had  no  particular  object,  for,  by  its 
very  intensity,  even  Julia  was  obliterated.  There 
was  nothing  but  himself,  a  thing  frozen  in  a  bril- 
liance which  blinded  its  own  eyes.  If  he  could  have 
felt  anything  definite  against  her  it  would  have  been 
easier.  To  stop  hating  the  emptiness,  he  began  to 
drink  more  heavily.  If  he  permitted  himself  to  seek 
an  object  through  which  his  suffering  could  be  ex- 
pressed he  reverted  to  Catherine.  He  must  keep 
away  from  that.  I  mustn't  hurt  her.  Poor  old  girl. 
It's  not  right. 

He  found  that  his  repugnance  to  Catherine  had 
become  so  acute  that,  to  keep  himself  from  saying 
and  doing  irretrievable  things,  it  was  necessary  to 
escape  the  house  and  her  presence.  By  God,  it's 
rotten!  She's  stood  by  me.  I've  got  to  be  good  to 
her. 

In  his  rejuvenated  conception  of  his  wife  he  exag- 
gerated both  her  acuteness  and  her  capacity  for  suf- 
fering. It  now  appeared  to  him  that  she  had  im- 
molated herself  on  the  altar  of  an  ideal  of  which  he 


246  NARCISSUS 

was  the  embodiment.  She's  loved  me.  She's  always 
loved  me.  I  don't  know  what's  the  matter  with  me. 
Christ,  what  a  rotten  world  this  is! 

Then  her  small  face  rose  up  before  him  in  all  its 
evasive  pleasantness.  He  hated  the  faded  prettiness 
of  it;  the  withered  look  of  her  throat;  the  velvet 
band  she  wore  about  her  neck  to  make  herself  ap- 
pear younger  when  she  was  in  evening  dress.  He 
hated  her  delicate  characterless  hands  that  were  less 
fresh  than  her  face.  The  very  memory  of  her  rings 
oppressed  him.  She  was  always  so  richly  yet  so  dis- 
creetly dressed.  Such  perfect  taste.  She  had  a  way 
of  seeming  to  call  attention  to  other  people's  bad 
breeding.  He  remembered  the  glasses  she  put  on 
when  she  read  and  hated  the  look  of  them  on  her 
small  nose.  The  little  grimace  she  made  when  she 
laughed.  Her  verbal  insistence  on  sensible  footgear 
and  the  feeling  he  always  had  that  her  shoes  were 
too  small  for  her.  The  quizzical  contempt  with 
which  she  baffled  him.  Her  sweet  severe  smile  be- 
hind which  she  concealed  herself. 

My  God,  I've  got  to.  I've  got  to.  When  he  real- 
ized that  the  recollection  of  Julia  was  coming  into 
his  mind  he  went  somewhere  and  took  another  drink. 
It  was  hot  and  quieting.  Warm  sensual  dark  in 


NARCISSUS  247 

which  he  could  hide  himself.  Julia  was  something 
bright  and  glassy  that  stabbed  his  eyes.  He  put  her 
out  like  a  light.  He  held  fast  to  his  sense  of  sin.  He 
had  to  torture  himself  with  reproaches  to  make  it 
seem  worth  while  to  go  back  to  his  wife. 


tried  to  immerse  himself  in  business. 
This  was  the  one  province  in  which  he  could 
act  without  hesitations.  He  called  it,  "playing  the 
game".  The  atmosphere  of  trade  hardened  him. 
He  had  unconsciously  absorbed  some  of  his  wife's 
contempt  for  the  details  of  money  making.  Where 
he  was  not  permitted  to  be  sentimental,  he  luxuriated 
in  a  callousness  of  which  he  was  incapable  in  his  in- 
timate life. 

Day  after  day,  scrupulously  dressed,  he  sat  in  his 
office,  an  expensive  cigar  between  his  lips,  pre- 
serving to  his  associates  what  would  be  called  a 
"poker  face".  If  he  were  able  to  get  the  best  of  any 
one  —  especially  through  doubtful  and  unanticipated 
means  —  it  gave  him  an  illusion  of  power  which 
tempted  him  later  to  prolific  benevolence.  He  had 
begun  life  as  a  telegraph  operator  in  a  small  town. 
He  deserted  this  profession  to  go  into  trade.  At  one 
time  he  was  a  small  manufacturer.  Later  he  sold 


248  NARCISSUS 

mining  stock,  and  promoted  a  company  that  ulti- 
mately failed.  His  first  success  had  come  when  he 
went  into  the  lumber  industry,  and  he  had  recently 
become  possessed  of  some  oil  fields  that  were  mak- 
ing him  rich. 

Charles  never  felt  pity  for  any  one  who  was  on  a 
financial  equality  with  himself.  He  would  fleece 
such  a  man  without  a  qualm.  He  distrusted  Social- 
ists, tolerated  trade  unions  with  suspicion,  but  was 
sorry  for  "the  rough  necks".  Poor  devils!  I  know 
what  it's  like.  We're  all  of  us  poor  devils.  He  loved 
to  think  of  himself  as  one  who,  through  sheer  force 
of  initiative,  had  risen  despite  unusual  handicaps. 
By  gosh,  before  I  get  through  I'm  going  to  be  quits 
with  the  world !  At  least  we  can  keep  the  women  out 
of  this — !  Damned  muck! 

In  the  flush  of  unscrupulous  conquest,  his  eyes 
glistened  with  triumph.  His  gestures  were  harshly 
confident.  He  looked  young  and  happy.  If,  at  such 
times,  he  encountered  women,  they  found  his  mix- 
ture of  simplicity  and  ruthlessness  particularly  in- 
gratiating. 


NARCISSUS  249 

IN  the  street  Charles  remembered  a  small  niece 
whom  he  had  not  thought  of  for  a  long  time. 
Brother's  kid.  I'll  send  her  something.  His  brother 
was  a  poor  man  working  on  a  small  salary.  Charles 
wanted  to  do  something  generous  that  would  help 
him  to  think  well  of  himself.  God,  what  a  fool  I  am!. 
He  walked  along  briskly  with  his  hat  off,  looking  in- 
solent and  debonair.  When  an  acquaintance  passed 
in  a  motor  car  a  jovial  greeting  was  exchanged. 
To  make  himself  oblivious  to  the  resentment 
which  was  in  the  memory  of  Julia,  Charles  dwelt 
elaborately  on  the  memory  of  other  women.  Blanche, 
damn  her!  I'll  have  to  go  and  see  her  again.  One 
hand  around  the  old  boy's  neck  and  the  other  in  his 
pocket.  He  tried  to  keep  away  from  the  center 
toward  which  his  thoughts  converged.  What  price 
life!  Hell!  (In  the  depths  of  me,  this  awful  des- 
pair. Horror,  horror,  horror.  Something  clutched 
and  dragged  him  into  himself.)  He  stretched  his 
neck  above  his  collar  and%  passed  his  finger  along 
the  edge.  (Some  woman's  throat  white  like  that. 
Bent  back.  Lilies  on  a  windy  day.  I  shall  die.) 

Young  Goode  coming  toward  him.  Goode  think- 
ing, Here's  that  unmoral  innocent.  He'll  live  for- 
ever. Hurst's  a  bounder.  Damn  well-meaning  ass. 


250  NARCISSUS 

They  stood  on  the  street  corner  gossiping.  Young 
Goode's  brown  eyes  desponded  from  boredom.  Very 
handsome.  A  black  mustache.  His  nose  almost 
Greek.  His  head  empty — only  a  few  clever  thoughts. 
"Hello,  Hurst."  "Hello,  Goode,  old  chap.  Yes,  go- 
ing out  to  Marburne  to-morrow — Wilson  and  his 
wife.  How  are  you?  What  do  you  think  of  the 
election?  Glad  that  crook,  Hallo  well,  got  kicked 
out." 

Goode  said  he  was  thinking  of  turning  Bolshevist. 
His  smile  was  self-appreciative.  Ludicrous! 

"Well,  I  hope  not.  Haven't  come  to  that  yet. 
But  the  patriotism  of  some  of  these  ward  heelers  is 
pretty  thin.  Yes — hope  we'll  see  you." 

They  moved  apart.  Young  Goode  grew  small  in 
distance.  A  dark  vanishing  speck  down  the  glaring 
street.  Christ,  what  a  hot  day!  Charles  mumbled 
over  some  obscene  expressions.  I  don't  want  to 
think.  (Catherine,  lilies,  white  and  beautiful  neck.) 

Charles  had  gone  all  the  way  to  town  on  foot.  In 
front  of  the  building  where  his  office  was  located  he 
encountered  Mr.  Wilson.  "Hello!  Hello!  What  do 
you  think  of  this  for  the  beginning  of  fall?  Hot,  eh? 
About  time  for  another  drink?  Yes,  going  out  to 
your  wife's  new  place.  Kate  says  it's  quite  a 


NARCISSUS  251 

buy.    Not  yours?    What's  a  husband  now-a-days! 
Superfluous  critter.    Endured  but  not  wanted." 

Mr.  Wilson's  eyes  were  twinklingly  submerged  be- 
tween his  fat  cheeks  and  bulging  brows.  He  hadn't 
time  for  a  drink.  He  wanted  to  talk  business  be- 
fore he  left  town.  He  chuckled  at  everything 
Charles  said.  His  full  cheeks  quivered  and  his  neat 
belly  shook  in  the  opening  of  his  coat.  Charles  was 
wary  of  unqualified  approbation,  but  the  more  sus- 
picious he  became  the  more  easy  and  Rabelaisian 
was  his  conversation.  "Well — well — well,  Hurst! 
I'll  be—"  Mr.  Wilson  actually  suffered  in  delight. 

They  had  seated  themselves  in  Charles's  inner 
room,  a  handsome  heavy  desk  between  them. 
Charles  gazed  with  cold  innocent  eyes  at  the  laugh- 
ing fat  man  opposite. 

When  Mr.  Wilson  had  gone  Charles  opened  a  cup- 
board and  took  out  a  bottle.  In  business  hours  he 
was  very  moderate  in  his  indulgence. 

A  long  white  road,  just  empty,  going  nowhere. 
The  car  jumped  to  his  touch.  How  cool  and  still  it 
had  been  in  the  woods  at  evening  when  he  and  Julia 
drove  home.  That's  beautiful.  Myself  beautiful, 
wanting  to  be  loved.  Fat  old  fool.  Little  children, 
little  children,  come  unto  me. 


252  NARCISSUS 

My  God,  he  said  out  loud,  I'm  getting  a  screw 
loose.  Growing  senile!  Julia — that  hurts.  I  can't 
think  of  that.  Kate,  poor  girl ! 

All  day  he  felt  as  though  the  memory  of  some 
pathetic  death  had  made  him  kind. 

AT  last  Paul  had  made  up  his  mind  to  run  away. 
His  interest  in  the  revolution  had  waned. 
What  do  I  think?  May — that  Farley  woman.  I 
don't  know.  His  emotions  had  betrayed  him. 
Where  am  I?  I  don't  know  anything.  I  don't  know 
myself.  He  was  unhappy,  afraid  that  some  one 
would  discover  for  him  that  his  unhappiness  also 
was  absurd.  His  aunt,  and  Uncle  Archie,  were  inti- 
mate with  the  things  that  made  his  thoughts.  He 
wanted  to  go  away,  overseas,  to  know  things  which 
their  recognitions  had  never  touched.  When  he  was 
a  part  of  foreign  life  they  would  not  be  able  to  reach 
his  thoughts.  He  wanted  to  put  his  wonder  into 
things  that  were  dark  to  them. 

There  were  days  when  he  spent  all  his  free  time 
among  the  docks.  He  edged  into  the  vast  obscurity 
of  warehouses.  Red-necked  men,  half  dressed,  were 
pushing  trucks  about.  When  they  shouted  orders 
to  each  other  their  voices  echoed  in  the  twilight  of 


NARCISSUS  253 

dust  and  mingled  odors  in  the  huge  sheds.  Through 
an  opening,  far  off,  Paul  saw  the  side  of  a  ship,  white, 
on  which  the  sun  struck  a  ray  like  light  on  another 
world.  There  was  a  porthole  in  the  glaring  frag- 
ment of  hull.  The  porthole  glittered.  The  strip  of 
water  below  it  was  like  twinkling  oil. 

He  made  friends  with  a  petty  officer  of  a  Brazil- 
ian freight  boat  who  took  him  aboard  for  a  visit. 
On  the  machine  deck  Paul  saw  sailors'  clothes  spread 
out  to  dry.  With  the  smell  of  hot  metal  and  grease 
was  mingled  the  odor  of  fresh  paint.  He  leaned 
over  one  of  the  ventilators  and  the  air  that  came 
out  of  it  almost  overpowered  him. 

From  where  he  stood  he  could  see  the  city  dis- 
tantly. Here  and  there  a  tower  radiated,  or  a  gilded 
cornice  on  a  high  roof  flashed  through  the  opacity  of 
smoke.  When  he  faced  the  sun  the  glow  was  in- 
tolerable, but  he  turned  another  way  and  watched 
a  world  that  looked  drowned  in  light.  The  ships 
were  crowded  along  the  docks  as  if  they  were  on 
dry  land.  Masts  and  smoke  stacks  bristled  together. 
The  harbor,  filled  with  tugs  and  barges,  seemed  to 
have  contracted  so  that  the  farthest  line  of  shore  was 
only  a  hand's  throw  away. 

He  listened  to  the  creaking  of  hawsers  and  the 


254  NARCISSUS 

shouts  in  foreign  tongues.  When  the  wind  turned 
toward  him,  the  strong  oily  fragrance  of  the  sacks  of 
coffee  that  were  being  unloaded  over  the  gang  plank 
pervaded  everything.  The  wind  touched  him  like  the 
hand  of  a  ghost.  Gulls  with  bright  wings  darted 
through  the  haze  to  rest  for  an  instant  amidst  the 
refuse  that  floated  in  the  brown  fiery  water. 

Down  in  the  engine  room  something  was  burring 
and  churning.  The  water  rose  along  the  ship's  side 
with  a  hiss  of  faint  motion,  and  descended  again  as 
if  in  stealthy  silence.  Nothing  but  the  lap,  lap 
of  tiny  waves  succeeding  one  another.  As  if  the 
sun's  rays  had  woven  a  net  about  it,  the  water  was 
caught  again  in  stillness.  It  was  a  transfixed  glory 
like  the  end  of  the  world. 

I  shall  die.  I  shall  never  come  back.  Inside  Paul 
was  like  a  light  growing  dim  to  itself,  going  on  for- 
ever in  invisible  distance.  When  he  contemplated 
leaving  everything  he  knew,  he  followed  the  disap- 
pearing light,  and  when  it  died  away  he  belonged  to 
the  strange  lands  which  wanted  him  like  dreams. 
The  river  and  the  city,  dim  and  harsh  at  the  same 
time,  had  the  indefiniteness  which  allowed  him  to 
give  himself  to  them.  He  was  in  them,  in  smoke  and 
endless  distance.  He  listened  to  the  hoarse  startling 


NARCISSUS  255 

whistles  of  tugs,  the  shrill  whistles  of  factories  blow- 
ing the  noon  hour  on  land,  the  confusion  of  voices 
that  rose  from  the  small  boats  clustered  about  the 
ship's  stern. 

Going  away.  Dying.  I  shall  be  dead  of  light,  not 
known.  Fear  of  the  unknown.  There  is  only  fear  of 
the  known,  he  said  to  himself,  the  known  outside. 
The  unknown  is  in  me.  He  wondered  what  he  was 
saying,  growing  up.  Mature.  He  felt  as  if  he  had 
already  gone  far,  far  away,  beyond  the  touch  of  the 
familiar  things  one  never  understood.  The  strange 
was  close.  It  was  his. 

MAY  felt  herself  lost  in  pale  endless  beauty  of 
which  Aunt  Julia  was  a  part.  Love  in  the 
darkness.  Love  in  her  own  room  at  night  when  she 
was  alone  and  hugged  her  pillow  to  her  wet  face. 
Through  the  window  she  saw  the  trees  in  the  street 
leaning  together  and  mingling  their  odd  shadows. 
An  arc  light  was  a  blurred  circle  through  the  branches 
and  the  stiff  leaves  shaking  and  dropping  occasion- 
ally to  earth.  When  she  was  unseen  she  could  give 
herself.  If  they  saw  her,  they  shut  her  in.  Now 
she  was  everywhere,  wanted,  dark  in  the  dark  street. 
She  could  see  a  star  above  the  roof  and  she  was  in 


256  NARCISSUS 

the  star  filled  with  thin  light.  She  felt  as  if  she  were 
dying  of  love,  dying  of  happiness.  Happy  over  a 
world  which  was  beautiful  because  she  loved  it.  She 
loved  Paul,  but  he  was  only  a  part  of  the  secret  city 
— a  part  of  everything.  She  did  not  want  to  think  of 
him  too  much.  Jesus,  everything,  she  said.  I'm 
Jesus.  She  shivered  at  her  blasphemy,  and  was  glad. 
I'm  Jesus!  I'm  Jesus!  The  leaves  rattled  against 
the  window  pane  and  fell  into  the  dark  street.  It 
was  too  bright.  She  drew  herself  up  in  a  knot  and 
hid  her  face. 

IT  was  a  hot  night.  Bobby  was  excited  and  cross. 
He  was  going  away  to  school  the  next  day.  His 
two  trunks  stood  open  on  the  floor  of  his  room.  Out- 
side the  windows  the  dry  leaves  rustled  in  the  murky 
night.  Some  rain  drops  splattered  against  the  lifted 
glass.  Then  there  was  silence,  save  for  the  occa- 
sional rattle  of  twigs  in  the  darkness.  An  auto- 
mobile slipped  by  with  the  long  soft  sound  of  rubber 
tires  sucking  damp  asphalt.  When  the  branches  of 
the  trees  parted,  the  Kghts  in  the  house  opposite 
seemed  to  draw  nearer.  Bobby  disliked  their 
spying. 
He  clattered  up  and  down  the  stairs  and  through 


NARCISSUS  257 

the  halls  in  the  still  house  where  one  could  hear  the 
clocks  tick. 

Depressed  and  resentful,  Julia  had  kept  herself 
from  the  boy  and  his  preparations.  He  encountered 
her  outside  his  door.  She  was  passing  quietly,  trying 
not  to  be  seen.  "Gee  whizz,  Aunt  Julia,  I  haven't 
got  anybody  to  help  me!"  Julia  realized  that  she 
was  hypocritical  in  her  determination  to  keep  away 
from  him.  "I  don't  see  why  you  can't  help  me, 
Aunt  Julia." 

Julia  clasped  her  long  pale  fingers  together  in  front 
of  her  black  dress.  She  smiled.  Bobby  doesn't 
know!  Oh,  Laurence,  how  can  you!  "Hadn't  you 
better  do  it  alone,  Bobby?  Then  you'll  know 
where  everything  is."  She  was  thinking  how  proud 
his  throat  looked  above  his  open  collar.  His  sun- 
burned neck  was  full  and  slender  like  a  flower 
calyx.  She  found  something  pathetic  in  his  small 
hard  face:  his  short  straight  nose,  his  sulky  mouth, 
his  round  chin,  his  eyes  that  saw  nothing  but  their 
own  desires.  She  loved  him.  He  hurt  her  so,  hard 
beautiful  little  beast.  She  walked  through  the  door, 
into  his  domain  that  recalled  his  school  pennants 
and  baseball  bats.  "What  a  trunk!  You  haven't 
left  room  for  clothes,  child." 


258  NARCISSUS 

"Well,  gee  whizz,  Aunt  Julia,  I've  got  to  take  my 
boxing  gloves  and  my  hockey  sticks,  and  there's  not 
anything  in  yet."  She  crouched  by  the  trunk  and 
began  to  lift  his  treasures  from  it.  "I'm  afraid  this 
will  all  have  to  be  taken  out." 

Bobby  stepped  on  her  trailing  skirt  as  he  peered 
into  the  trunk.  "Gosh,  Aunt  Julia,  it's  so  long!" 
He  added,  "You're  so  darn  slow." 

"Have  you  asked  May  to  help  you?" 

"Gosh,  Aunt  Julia,  I  don't  want  her!  She  never 
will  help  me  anyway." 

"I'm  afraid  you  don't  help  her  very  much." 
Julia  glanced  over  her  shoulder.  Her  smile  apolo- 
gized for  her  severity. 

"Well,  gee,  when  she  wants  me  to  help  her  it's 
always  some  fool  girl's  thing.  She's  not  going  away 
to  school." 

Laurence,  climbing  the  stairs  slowly,  heard  their 
talk.  He  had  hidden  himself  for  the  evening,  and 
was  on  his  way  to  bed.  He  went  to  the  door  and 
looked  in.  Julia  saw  him,  and  clambered  to  her 
feet,  tripping  over  her  skirt.  Laurence  concentrated 
his  attention  on  Bobby.  "Not  through  yet?" 

"Well,  darn  it,  Dad,  I've  got  to  get  everything  in 
these  two  measly  little  trunks.  I  just  can't  do  it." 


NARCISSUS  259 

Laurence  came  forward.  "Oh,  yes,  you  can."  He 
squatted  beside  the  heap  of  clothes.  Julia  stepped 
back  like  an  intruder.  She  watched  his  hands,  with 
their  gestures  of  delicacy  and  tension,  moving  among 
the  scattered  objects.  His  sweet  sneer  seemed  graven 
on  his  face.  Everything  about  him,  his  clumsy 
humped  shoulders,  the  spread  of  his  hams  straining 
the  cloth  of  his  trousers,  was  full  of  her  knowledge 
of  him  that  he  would  not  admit.  Bobby  ran  about 
the  room  bringing  things  to  his  father.  Rain  flut- 
tered out  of  the  darkness  and  made  threads  of  mo- 
tion on  the  silvered  glass.  "You'd  better  shut  that 
window,  Bobby."  Bobby  struggled  with  the  sash. 
"Gee  whizz,  Dad,  it's  so  hot  in  here!" 

Julia  wanted  to  leave  them,  but  could  not.  She 
felt  blank,  and  excluded,  as  though  they  had  thrust 
her  out  into  the  obliviousness  of  the  night.  She  was 
tired  of  the  disorder  of  her  inner  life,  but  there  was 
an  intoxication  in  desperation  vivid  enough  to  make 
remembered  peace  seem  dead  and  unreal.  The  only 
peace  she  could  look  forward  to  would  come  in  go- 
ing on  and  on  to  the  numbness  of  broken  intensity. 
When  one  became  God,  one  destroyed  in  order  to  ac- 
complish one's  godhead.  By  destruction  one  brought 
everything  into  one's  self.  But  she  was  heavy  with 


260  NARCISSUS 

the  everything  that  she  had  become.  It  was  too 
much.  Only  Laurence  remained  outside  her.  He 
would  not  have  her.  He  was  more  than  she,  because 
he  would  not  take  her  and  become  her.  Love  could 
not  annihilate  him.  She  understood  the  strategy  of 
crucifixion,  but  could  not  accomplish  it. 

Laurence  was  rising  stiffly  to  his  feet.  "Better, 
eh?" 

Bobby  was  grudgingly  appreciative.  "There's  a 
lot  more.  I'm  much  obliged.  I  guess  it's  all  right." 

Laurence  settled  his  cuffs  about  his  wrists  and, 
drawing  out  a  crumpled  handkerchief,  brushed  dust 
from  his  small  hands.  "Well,  that  will  do  until  morn- 
ing anyway.  Anything  we  can't  find  room  for  we'll 
send  after  you.  You'd  better  get  to  bed  now." 

Julia  said,  "Good-night,  Bobby,  dear."  "Good- 
night." Bobby  did  not  see  her  face.  "Good-night, 
Robert."  "  'Night,  Dad." 

Julia  followed  Laurence  out.  Still  he  did  not  look 
at  her.  He  was  relieved  by  the  certainty  of  Bobby's 
departure,  and  willing  to  acknowledge  that  he  owed 
Julia  some  compensation.  "Well,  I  suppose  we'll 
miss  the  kid." 

"I  shall."  They  were  before  Julia's  door.  She 
hesitated  with  her  hand  on  the  knob.  "Won't  you 


NARCISSUS  261 

come  in  and  talk  to  me  a  minute,  Laurence?"  He 
avoided  her  eyes  again  and  stiffened  weakly  to  re- 
sist her  tone.  "Pretty  late,  isn't  it?"  He  noted  her 
trembling  lips.  I  can't  bear  that  mouth.  "Isn't  it 
time  you  got  to  sleep?"  "I  can't  sleep." 

Then  he  had  to  meet  her  gaze.  He  was  lost  in  it. 
He  smiled  wryly.  "All  right."  With  a  sense  of 
groping,  he  followed  her  in.  He  wanted  the  strength 
to  keep  her  out  of  his  life  forever.  When  she  exposed 
her  misery  to  him,  it  was  as  if  she  were  showing  him 
breasts  which  he  did  not  desire. 

Julia  said,  "Sit  down,  won't  you,  Laurence?  I 
feel  almost  as  if  you  had  never  been  here."  Why 
did  she  treat  him  like  a  guest!  He  knew  her  suf- 
fering gaze  was  fixed  on  him  steadily.  Laurence, 
self-entangled,  was  ashamed  to  defend  himself.  He 
hated  her  because  he  loved  her.  He  was  jealous  of 
the  virgin  quality  of  his  pain,  and  he  must  give  it  up 
for  her  to  ravage  in  a  shared  emotion.  It  was  as  if 
her  hands,  sensually  understanding,  were  reaching 
voluptuously  for  his  heart. 

"You've  changed  your  furniture  around."  He 
fumbled  in  his  pocket  for  a  cigar.  Julia  was  closer. 
He  could  feel  her  movement  closer  to  him.  He  could 
no  longer  hide  himself. 


262  NARCISSUS 

Julia  knelt  by  the  side  of  his  chair.  "Are  you 
sending  Bobby  off  to  get  him  away  from  me, 
Laurie?" 

I  shall  have  to  look  at  her.  I  can't!  I  can't! 
"What  an  idea,  Julia!" 

"Laurie,  don't  punish  me!  It's  killing  me  to  be 
shut  out  of  your  life." 

His  head  was  bent  over  his  unlit  cigar,  as  he  rolled 
it  endlessly  in  his  fingers.  A  tear  splashed  on  his 
hand — his  own  tear.  He  wondered  at  it.  He  was 
helpless.  "Laurie,  my  darling!  I  love  you,  whether 
you  love  me  or  not!"  She  was  pressing  his  head 
against  her.  His  lost  head.  It  lolled.  It  was  hers. 
Everything  was  hers.  She  had  taken  him,  and  was 
exposing  his  love  for  her.  This  would  be  the  hardest 
thing  to  forget.  Could  he  ever  forget?  He  gave 
himself  limply  to  her  exultance.  "You've  killed  me, 
Julia.  What  is  there  to  forgive?  Yes,  I  love  you. 
I  love  you."  They  leaned  together.  How  easily  she 
cries!  They  love  each  other.  "Oh,  Laurie,  my 
darling,  my  darling!  Thank  you!  Thank  you!" 
She  was  kissing  his  hands.  He  writhed  inwardly. 
My  God,  not  that!  Even  7  can't  bear  it!  "Don't, 
Julia.  Please  don't."  "I  want  to  be  yours,  Laurie 
— oh,  won't  you  let  me  be  yours?"  "Julia,  I'm  any- 


NARCISSUS  263 

thing.  I'm  broken.  I  don't  know."  He  was  weep- 
ing through  his  fingers.  She  pulled  them  apart,  and 
pressed  her  lips  to  his  face  and  his  closed  eyes. 

After  a  time  they  were  calm.  She  was  tender  to 
his  humiliation.  When  he  lit  the  cigar  which  he  had 
recovered  from  the  floor,  she  sat  at  his  feet  and 
smiled.  He  recognized  his  need  of  her  now.  It  was 
dull  and  persistent.  Yes,  God  forbid  that  I  should 
judge  anybody.  I  love  her. 

"Laurie?" 

"Julia?"  His  furtive  eyes  admitted  the  sin  she 
put  on  them. 

"Dear  Laurie!    I  love  you  so  much." 

Unacknowledged,  each  kept  for  himself  a  pain 
which  the  other  could  not  heal.  Each  pitied 
the  other's  illusion,  and  was  steadied  by  it  into 
gentleness. 


THE  END 


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